


Amor Qui Sanat

by ABlackRaven



Series: Amare [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anxiety, Cedric Harry Remus Sirius and Amos are a sort of makeshift family, Established Relationship, Found Family, Hedric-centric, I have no idea how many chapters this is going to be, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Soulmates, Seperation Anxiety, Sequel, Sirius Black Free from Azkaban, Sirius Black Lives, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABlackRaven/pseuds/ABlackRaven
Summary: "Amor Qui Sanat."The Love That Heals.{NO LONGER ON HIATUS} It has now been just over a year since Harry and Cedric's soulmarks appeared. In that year they dealt with Harry's abusive family, the Ministry denying Voldemort's return, a psychotic hag of a witch, and another run in with Death Eaters and Voldemort. They came out of it with more scars then they entered. But they survived.Do they have any hope at healing before the Second Wars sweeps them up in its chaos? What will this year look like?A rewrite of Book 6 focused on Harry and Cedric.
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin (Background)
Series: Amare [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757755
Comments: 53
Kudos: 146
Collections: Harry Potter FFs





	1. Perfection Is Often A Harmful Endeavor

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel fix in the Amare series. You probably need to read the earlier stories for this one to make sense, especially since at least the first third of this is going to be just dealing with everything that happened at the end of Harry's fifth year. If you're here I presume you're looking for Harry/Cedric stories. In that case, why wouldn't you want to go read the first ones first?

Part I

**Chapter 1: Perfection is Often A Harmful Endeavor**

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were clearly proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. But until the middle of the previous summer, there was a hitch in their armor of perfectly manicured grass and flower beds, a stain on their reputation. They couldn’t be happier that their nephew had been taken away, and could only hope he would never be coming back. Their lives were, in their fine opinion, far better off without the  _ weirdness  _ that seemed to follow Harry James Potter like a dense fog. 

So the light summer evening the Dursleys were enjoying with their son was, in all respects and ways possible, perfectly normal. Until it wasn’t. 

A man appeared on the corner of Privet Drive, so suddenly and silently you’d have thought he’d just popped out of the ground. Albus Dumbledore was tall, thin, old, and very troubled. 

Barely a week had passed since the wizarding world had witnessed the return of Lord Voldemort. From what Dumbledore had been told by those close to Harry, having the boy return to Privet Drive for another summer was not an option, but in light of this recent event he had no choice but to consider it. After Harry had been taken to Grimmauld Place last summer, Albus had faced the fury of nearly every member of the Order for leaving him there in the first place. It wasn’t a decision he made lightly to come here this evening, but all options had to be seen. 

With Sirius free and exonerated, it was no longer a question of trying to find the boy people who would love and support him--people who could be his family. Once, Dumbledore had naively hoped the Dursleys could do that. He had been mistaken, and Harry had had to find that support on his own. Nor was it a question of simply finding people who would provide for the boy--Harry had always had people willing to do that. 

It remained, as it always had, a matter of safety. 

Tom Riddle’s plan had been exposed, he was no longer constrained by secrecy and shadows. People did not need to be Seers to feel what was coming, and those who were choosing still to ignore it were foolish. That Dumbledore would even consider returning a child of his school to a family seriously reported as abusive and neglectful truly highlighted the level of danger the boy was in. 

For now, he had allowed Harry to return to Grimmauld Place with his godfathers, his soulmate, and his soulmate’s father. Short of returning him to Privet Drive, that was the best Dumbledore could do. But without the strength of Blood Wards protecting Harry, Dumbledore knew he would live in fear for the boy’s safety every waking moment. Furthermore, Harry was a danger to those in proximity to him, and Dumbledore wasn’t sure they could afford to jeopardize the Order like that. 

Even now, he could feel the wards on Privet Drive weakening; at this point they were practically paper-thin. If Harry did not return soon, they would fail completely and Harry would lose the best protection he could have. So there Dumbledore was, seeing if he could afford to break yet another promise to the boy and force him to return to his mother’s family. 

Petunia Dursley opened the door with an air of forced, highly fabricated, almost synthetic genial welcome. The moment she took in who Albus was, this faded to icy contempt. 

“What do you want now?” she demanded harshly. 

“As always,” Dumbledore said, his voice steady with an evenness that did not betray his true emotions, “to discuss the safety and wellbeing of your nephew. Perhaps I should come inside.” It wasn’t a question. 

Scowling, Petunia ushered him inside, peeking around out the door after he crossed the threshold as if she was expecting to catch a neighbor spying on her. She slammed the door behind her, turning on him angrily. 

“Why should we agree to take  _ him  _ back?” Petunia sneered, spitting out even the pronoun referring to Harry like it left a bad taste in her mouth. 

“I would have hoped,” Dumbledore said slowly, “for the same reasons I asked you to take him in the first place; because he is, no matter how you wish to deny it, of your blood, and if not for that, simply because he has no one else. Of course the latter is no longer true, but it holds that your home offers Harry a level of protection it would be difficult to give him anywhere else.” 

“The boy was never a member of this family,” Petunia muttered. “His relation to my freakish sister means nothing to me. Why should we take him back? What more do you want from us--we’ve raised him all these years?” 

Dumbledore looked at her darkly. “Petunia, I do believe you may have mistaken the purpose of my visit here this evening. I did not come here to convince you to take Harry back, you have little choice in the matter. Did it never occur to you that Harry’s protection here extended to you and your family? My intention here is to assess whether I trust Harry’s safety within these walls, if I allow you to take him back.” 

Petunia swallowed. “Of course--what are you accusing us of?!” she spluttered, waving a hand about futilely. “Never liked the boy but I wouldn’t--we wouldn’t…” 

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, his tone nothing but conversational. “Do I take it you deny that young Harry ever came to harm while in your care?” 

Petunia was silent far too long. 

“We never asked for this!” she finally shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger at Dumbledore. “Before he came along...we were perfect!” 

Dumbledore didn’t immediately respond, his gaze had traveled and come to rest on the door to the cupboard underneath the stairs. He felt a chill go down his spine and rest heavily against his heart--there was unsettling energy within. Ignoring Petunia’s desperate rantings, he walked forward and opened the door. 

Dust greeted him, like the space had been intentionally forgotten by the other residents of the house. But it was clear that once, years ago, this place had been occupied. A crude drawing, done on what appeared to be some sort of aging wrapper, proclaimed  _ ‘Harry!’  _ in an odd green color. A handful of broken toy soldiers marched across the shelf. An old cot still occupied the corner. 

A darkness lingered, a thick fog that had settled upon the cupboard that had clearly once been the boy-- _ Harry’s-- _ room. It was pain and it was sorrow and it was anger and it was loneliness. It was heartbreaking. And the moment Dumbledore felt it hit him, he wanted to cry. His hand was shaking, clutching the door so tightly his knuckles were white. 

“Perfection is a rather harmful endeavor…” he muttered, mostly to himself. Now that he had sensed the darkness in that cupboard, it was easier to see where it lingered everywhere, like magical dust. Somehow, the weight of what he had left Harry to began to settle on him in a concrete way, heavier than it had been before. 

They were damn lucky the Dursleys hadn’t created an Obscurus. 

“Tuney, who is it?” a gruff voice called from the other room, presumably Mr. Dursley. 

“It’s--” Petunia swallowed hard, and when she spoke her voice was strained with fear. “It’s  _ him. _ ”

“Who?” Mr. Dursley asked, waddling into the hallway. “Oh.” 

Dumbledore looked between the two of them, tension building in the air as he decided what to do. He could feel anger rising within him--Petunia’s fear was not unfounded. He had hoped, he had reasoned, that the descriptions of abuse came from people who cared deeply about Harry, and were, at least to some extent, drawn out of proportion. From the kind of darkness that lingered in that cupboard, however, the reports were likely understatements. 

_ “Legilimens,”  _ he muttered under his breath, staring Petunia directly in the eyes. 

Memory is, by its very nature, fluid. Consciousness is a river of thoughts, a river that turns and crosses itself in a maze of swirling pathways. Memory is something held in perpetual motion by that river, and the river is inevitably influenced by the emotions and perceptions of the mind it belongs to. 

Dumbledore sifted through a haze of meaningless memories traveling on the currents, memories that hardly mattered and would inevitably join the hazy fog of forgetfulness that lies in the deeper parts of the mind.

Soon he was standing in the master bedroom of the house, watching the scene flash before him. Petunia and Vernon were sitting in bed quietly when the door was abruptly slammed open. Petunia shrieked. Remus Lupin walked in, his eyes flashing dangerously, and it was abundantly clear in that moment that the man was a werewolf all days of the month, for all that he normally did not show it. “Where is it?” he demanded flatly, drawing his wand. “Where is Harry’s wand?” The memory shifted. 

Dumbledore traveled backwards, and eventually came to a breakfast that looked at least five years younger. A morbidly heavy child stuffed his face with eggs, while a much smaller child sat on the step stool of the kitchen, away from the table and the family, eating a charred piece of bread that could be called toast by a stretch. Sad, piercing green eyes…He took the memory of Harry and followed it further, bringing him to a new moment in the past. 

“Freakish boy!” Petunia shrieked, dragging a younger Harry down the hallway. “Complaining about bruises now? Are you  _ trying  _ to be trouble?” Unceremoniously she shoved him in the cupboard, clearly not caring when he landed with a pained whimper. A lock slid into place when the door closed, and Petunia spoke through a grate. “No food for three days, and just wait until your Uncle gets home!” 

His heart dreading what he might find, Dumbledore followed the pathway of memories of the Uncle tied to Harry. This memory was much more recent, it couldn’t have been more than two years old. The Harry in this memory was the same boy Dumbledore had come to know and care for during his years at Hogwarts. 

But there was none of that Gryffindor fire in his eyes now. 

Harry was sitting on the bed in the spare bedroom, staring listlessly at the wall. Whatever bruises he had were not visible, but the expression on his face was strained and the way he held himself was pained. Petunia, after unlocking the numerous locks on the door, dropped a list on the ground. 

“Chores,” she muttered. For once, Petunia seemed to be actually noticing the state her nephew was in, except there wasn’t any of the sympathy that should have been there. It was only annoyance, distaste,  _ disgust.  _ “Clean yourself to avoid infection,” she muttered, as if the only reason she would suggest this was for Harry to avoid inconveniencing them. 

The memories shifted. Harry was younger, much younger, less than seven. His primary teacher’s hair turned bright green, and Uncle Vernon unbuckled his belt. The memories shifted. Petunia swung a frying pan, and Harry had the experience to duck in time. The memories shifted. Harry was left outside as the rain came down in sheets, not allowed inside until his chores were finished. The family sat down to watch the television as if he didn’t exist. The memories shifted. 

Worthless, boy, freak. No food, no hugs, no care. The smack of a hand, the dull thud against a wall, the sound of a belt…

Almost desperately, Dumbledore pulled himself out. Again, he looked between Petunia and Vernon. Petunia was deathly pale and shaking, leaning against the wall for support and muttering incomprehensible phrases. Vernon looked ready to burst with rage. 

Albus Dumbledore turned on the spot and left, slamming the door open and not bothering to close it or look back. If he had spared a moment more within the walls of that...building--house and home seem far too nice of words for places that have seen such cruelty--Dumbledore was afraid he would draw his wand and live to regret it. Or that he would draw his wand and not regret it at all. 

Only one thing was clear; he had made a very grave mistake. 

* * *

Harry could only distantly feel Sirius put an arm around his shoulders as they Apparated on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place-- _ home _ . The light of the funeral pyre was still burned into his mind’s eye with a strange spectral sort of glow. As that fire had burned, the hollowness left behind after Thea’s death had ached so much he figured it was a wonder they didn’t all bleed to death with the pain of it. 

Minutes later he found himself sitting at the kitchen table, one hand clutching a mug of warm tea and the other interlaced tightly with Cedric’s. Unceremoniously discarded on the table was a week’s worth of Daily Prophet articles, headlines Harry didn’t need to read to remember. 

_ HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE? _

_ SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDES FUDGE _

_ SIRIUS BLACK DECLARED INNOCENT _

Beyond that was a variety of pamphlets on Defense published by the Ministry. At the moment that was the only concrete action that had really been taken, Harry could only hope Scrimgeour would be an improvement. The pamphlets were filled with forgettable information that, as far as Harry could see, didn’t seem to be altogether practical. 

_ Not to mention,  _ Harry thought bitterly, his blood starting to boil about the article published the other day on Werewolves,  _ bigotedly misguided.  _

There was also a smaller headline the other day, on a later page, that he would never forget reading.  _ “Remembering Althea Diggory.”  _ Harry wanted to cry, scream, and puke all at once when he saw it. How was it fair that they were all front page news, while she was relegated to a page past the Quidditch updates? 

In the week since Sirius’ trial the five of them had barely left the house, only Amos or Remus leaving if there were essentials that needed to be picked up. They were worried about security for Cedric and Harry; considering what had happened the last time one of them left the protection of Hogwarts, Harry couldn’t blame them. But, surely, they had to be safe at Grimmauld…

He was safe in a way he hadn't been before, at the Dursleys, but he was also in danger in a way he hadn’t been before, at the Dursleys. It was incredible, to be able to truly start to let go of the lingering dread he always carried around about going back to Privet Drive. But he couldn’t help but worry that, despite what Dumbledore had said, he would be going back. The world wasn’t a safe place...but Harry had to  _ believe  _ they were safe at Grimmauld, because that’s what he kept promising Cedric, that they were safe. 

They all said those words an awful lot over the week between the trial and the funeral. It was said softly to pull people out of panic attacks and flashbacks. It was whispered in the darkness of night between soulmates (Harry could not fathom how Amos faced his dreams alone. Maybe that was why it seemed the man never got enough sleep--not that any of them did). It was a promise they kept repeating like a latin incantation. 

Watching Cedric try to cope, when he was so used to being the strong one...it was heartbreaking. It reminded Harry horribly of himself, all those times he’d felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He felt that weight now, and he could see Cedric felt it too. And it was somehow much easier to watch someone he loved hold up that burden than carry the burden himself. 

For the last week Cedric was somehow worse than he had been at Hogwarts. Maybe both of them, relieved of the pressure of the eyes of their peers, were finally starting to let go of some emotional barriers. Logically, Harry supposed that was important. Emotionally, he would have given anything not to have to see Cedric so hurt. 

Cedric was so tense, all the time, like he felt he had to be constantly on guard. Harry didn’t comment on the fact Cedric slept with a hand around Thea’s-- _ Cedric’s _ wand, he was practically doing the same. Loud noises startled him like never before. Both of their panic attacks were back, but Harry had only had a couple and they weren’t nearly as bad as he expected. Cedric’s, however…

He never wanted to talk about the flashbacks, just like they didn’t talk about the nightmares. 

The past week had, more often than not, felt like an exercise in futility. They were all hurting in different ways, with similar and different pains. Sometimes they were just hurting for each other. Amos and Sirius really tried not to show it, Harry got the sense they both felt they had...a responsibility to Thea to be strong in her absence. But Sirius had almost lost his soulmate, had spent a week in Ministry custody with no word, facing the prospect of being thrown back in Azkaban. Amos had almost lost his son, had lost his wife of almost two decades. It was a lie to say they were any more okay than Harry and Cedric, they were just better at hiding it. 

And Remus...Remus, who had come the closest of all them to the edge of death, was somehow the most stable one left. Maybe that was because, unlike the rest of them, it seemed Remus had developed a system of practices to handle his issues. So he became the steady rock of the household, a point to which they could all gravitate. 

Most of this went completely unspoken about in the Grimmauld household. Harry got the feeling the adults had decided to give Cedric and him the week to...well, ‘ _ recover’ _ was a pretty far fetched goal, but...settle in, at least. 

He felt Cedric’s hand tighten softly around his own. Unconsciously, Harry realized he’d been rubbing a small, rhythmic circle over the lowest joint of Cedric’s thumb. Those casual moments of soft intimacy that he had grown so accustomed to with his soulmate still caught him off guard sometimes. 

Third year, when Cedric caught him during that Quidditch match...Harry would have never guessed they would end up here. 

“Alright you two,” Sirius said softly just as Harry was finishing his tea. “Up to bed now. Tomorrow…” he trailed off, clearly wrestling with a question. Sirius looked conflicted, Amos looked pained, and Remus just looked...sad. 

“Sirius,” Remus said, walking up and putting a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t avoid it any longer.” 

Sirius nodded, “Tomorrow we need to talk. The Order’s meeting here on the 5th, day after tomorrow. We need to know how--what went wrong. We can’t afford another...don’t worry about it too much.” 

Harry tried to ignore the twinge of anxiety in his heart-- _ Cedric is out of Hogwarts now...is he going to join...Merlin… _

“Okay,” Cedric’s voice was strained in the same way whenever  _ ‘what happened’  _ was alluded to. “We’ll talk, tomorrow.” 

But, late that night as Harry struggled to fall asleep, ‘tomorrow’ seemed an age and a half away. Seconds crept by like spiders soldiering on through molasses, deliberately slow. In a strange way though, Harry didn’t mind it. 

It wasn’t the first summer night he had spent counting seconds tick by. In the past, all he had usually wanted was a way to jump forward to the school year, to escape the present. He’s spent the past alone. He wasn’t alone anymore. This present, as broken as it felt at times, wasn’t something Harry was keen on quickly escaping. Every moment was something to be kept close to his heart. 

“Love…” Cedric's voice was a hoarse whisper in the silence of the room. “Harry, are you--” 

Harry shook his head, pulling Cedric slightly closer to his chest. “I’m not sleeping.” 

There had been an unspoken shift between the two of them--once, Cedric had been the protector. Harry had always been ready, at a moment’s notice, to give his life to protect Cedric, to comfort him but...Cedric had never needed before. Not like this.

“I don’t know…” Cedric sighed heavily, “I don’t know what they want us to tell them tomorrow, Harry.” 

Harry tensed, tightening his hand around Cedric’s and pressing a kiss against his head. “You don’t have to--” 

“Talk about anything I don’t want to,” Cedric muttered. There was a bitterness in his voice Harry understood, but didn’t like. “Harry, if I did that I don’t think I would ever talk about it. Really talk about it.” 

They were both silent for a long moment. 

Finally Harry took a deep breath and started talking, “I just keep thinking that I should have put more work into DA lessons, to be honest.” 

“What? Harry, you, we put a lot of time into those.” 

“We said, at the Hog’s Head, that we were going to try to teach them how to survive this.” Harry closed his eyes, hating the tears that were threatening. “I don’t think we could really teach that, Cedric. But what if the one spell one of them needed we didn’t get to, what if--” 

“Shh,” Cedric soothed. “You do what you can do, Harry.” 

“...the same applies to you,” Harry whispered, at a loss for the right words to break through to Cedric. It was clear that, on some level at least, he blamed himself. 

“She…” Cedric’s voice broke, and along with it Harry’s heart. “She died because of me, Harry.” 

And finally, something that had happened and a feeling about it was addressed out loud.  _ Why does moving forward have to hurt so much?  _ Harry thought to himself, holding his boyfriend as they both cried. Guilt, guilt for someone who had fought and died to protect you, was another thing Harry understood, another similar pain they were sharing. 

“No, Cedric,” Harry said softly. “She didn’t die because of you. You didn’t cause her death. She died  _ for _ you. She fought  _ for  _ you. That was her choice. There’s a difference.” 

His finger brushed against the scar tissue covering Cedric’s left wrist, and he shuddered slightly. There was another scar on the other side of his hand, hateful words he could just feel ridged outlines of every time they held hands. So many old wounds, to many to count, and they had only just begun to talk about one. That was alright though, between the two of them they had too many scars to unpack in one insomnia-filled night. 

They still had time. 

Harry still had glamours over his skin. He had reapplied them at some point, he couldn’t even remember when. Used to be that the illusions were to hide the secrets from other people. If Harry was being entirely honest, at least to some degree, he was hiding the scars from himself now. They were reminders of a past he didn’t want to remember. If only mental scars were so easy to hide from himself. If only perfection were easy, only the matter of a wave of a wand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a little longer than I had hoped. After finishing "Amare Non Obstante Tenebris, I was a bit worn out I think. At the same time I got swept up with my personal life. I'm at a point now where I have the time to get back to work on this, just a bit slower. Daily updates are going to be a thing of the past. The hope is for weekly updates, but as the school year picks up that might not happen. We'll see.  
> I do promise this; I will not abandon this story. It might take months, years even, but I will see this through.  
> A huge thank you, as always, to the fantastic beta reader Tree Spiral!


	2. Pity The Living

**Chapter 2: Pity the Living**

Even after they both finally drifted off to unconsciousness, neither of them got much rest that night--not that there was much of the night even left by the time they did find sleep. Still, getting up for the morning was inevitable and breakfast was unavoidable. Over the past week that was one thing Remus had insisted on, all of them keeping to a semi-regular schedule of waking up. But it was the conversation after breakfast Harry was dreading--a conversation no amounts of tea, eggs, and toast would have fortified them for. 

“Why...why don’t you start at the beginning then? Cedric...” Remus’ gaze and voice softened considerably. “How did they get you from St. Mungo’s to the Department of Mysteries?” 

Harry swallowed, looking between Sirius, Remus, and Amos nervously. He felt Cedric’s hand tighten around his--whether Cedric was trying to give comfort or seek it out he could not tell. Harry squeezed back, wishing there was any way he could make it easier for his soulmate. Cedric’s face looked pained, he was tense like he always was when this got brought up. 

“Didn’t go to the Ministry first,” Cedric finally muttered, after a long silence. He let go of Harry to lean his head on his interlaced fingers on the table. “Lestrange was Polyjuiced as a St. Mungo’s healer, she had a quill that was a Portkey. Don’t know how we got to the Ministry...I wasn’t conscious. Harry showed up about an hour after they woke me up.” 

_ There’s more,  _ Harry thought, his heart breaking all over for Cedric, that broken look in his boyfriend’s eyes when he found him burned into the vision of his mind’s eye.  _ Oh, Cedric. When are you going to stop letting this eat at you? _

“Do you remember anything about where you were...before?” Amos’ voice was strained, like the only thing keeping him together was a need to be strong for Cedric. It probably was. 

Cedric shook his head, “Nothing that would help. It was dark and stoney, lit by torches. Probably somewhere underground. Could be anywhere really…” His voice was distant, and it almost seemed like he was looking somewhere else. 

“Okay,” Sirius turned to Harry. “How, in Merlin’s name, did you find him?” 

“Voldemort planted a vision of him being tortured in my head,” Harry said flatly, trying to hold back the waves of emotion until they could get through this conversation. “During the History of Magic O.W.L, so I probably didn’t get a good score on that one. I knew he was in the Department of Mysteries because I’ve been seeing that in my dreams.” 

“And you just went along with that?” Amos asked sharply. “How did you know any of that was real, Harry? What if you were walking into a trap for nothing?” 

Harry was struck momentarily by the concern in the older man’s voice. Amos seemed to have aged in the time since his wife’s death, grown more distant, but there was no denying that he had just said, in a roundabout way, he cared about Harry’s wellbeing.

“The Pendants,” Harry said softly. “And it was real, obviously.”  _ And a trap.  _

Cedric turned to look at Harry sharply then scowling, “Harry, I thought you never heard that. I told you to stay away. I  _ explicitly  _ told you to stay away!” 

“And you seriously expected me to listen?” Harry demanded. “You expected me, and Gavin, and James, and Hermione, and Ron--everyone, to just abandon you? We would never do that, Cedric. I would never do that.”

Cedric stared at him, his mouth opening and closing several times without words. 

“Harry…” Sirius trailed off, sighing deeply. “You have to know we’re very proud, and of course extremely grateful Cedric is alive, but what you did was extremely dangerous. You’re not invincible and you...are important.”

He huffed in annoyance, “Because of a damn prophecy.” 

“No,” Sirius said, echoed by three other voices. “You’re important to us. These aren’t schoolyard fights, Harry. You can’t just go running off after Voldemort like that.” 

Harry leaned back in his chair heavily, surprised by the bitterness rising in him like bile. A harsh bark of bitter laughter escaped him. “You think I don’t know that?” he managed to finally ask, his voice strained. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the one who’s fought him. Again, and again, and again. You think I think I’m invincible? Maybe I thought that the first time, when I went after Quirrell. It was pretty hard to think that I was invincible when I had just been bitten  _ by a basilisk. _ ” 

One look at their faces, and Harry knew he had gone too far. Cedric looked grim; he, at least, had heard these stories before. Amos’ face was nothing but shock as he stared blankly at Harry. Remus looked murderous, not unlike how he had looked last summer when he showed up at the Dursleys’. Sirius was white as a sheet, as if he had seen a ghost. 

_ He blames himself,  _ Harry realized with a start.  _ He wasn’t there for me, to protect me, so he blames himself. Dammit Potter, why can’t you learn to watch your mouth?  _

“Sirius, I--” 

“Harry,” Sirius moved quickly, reaching over the table to cover Harry’s hand with his own. His voice was earnest, thick with emotion. “You have people who want to take care of you. You’re not even sixteen yet. Let us.” 

Harry stared at his godfather, at a loss for words for the feelings surrounding him. Something had been missing from his life that was now returning, an ache he never realized he was feeling was fading. It was overwhelming. 

He managed to nod, and then, focusing on the weight of the pendant on his chest and the person it represented, he was able to talk. “Cedric was dying. I don’t regret what I did, Sirius.” 

“I’m not asking you to,” Sirius said gently. 

“We have to communicate better in the future,” Remus said gravely. “Why didn’t you try to contact us, Harry?” 

Harry gently pulled away from Sirius’ grip, acutely aware of the weight of the gaze of his family on him.  _ They all think I rushed off without even trying to get help,  _ Harry thought, not without a hint of bitterness. Maybe they all thought he was a bit crazy after all that time dealing with everything on his own, that he didn’t even know how to ask for help. But he had asked for help, hadn’t he?  _ Hermione had to convince you,  _ a quiet voice at the back of his head echoed. 

“Harry?” 

Harry turned to meet his godfather’s eyes, and knew in an instant he wanted to do anything but tell Sirius the truth, but there was no avoiding it. “I tried to call you,” he said, desperately trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. 

In his mind the memories came back in flashes--he was running to the Hospital Wing, only to find that McGonagall was gone; he was running to Gryffindor tower for the mirror, a mirror that remained empty; he was risking everything to get to the floo, only to find Grimmauld Place empty except for Kreacher. Everywhere he turned, everywhere he screamed for help, there was no one, and all the while, Cedric was suffering. 

“I…” Sirius sighed heavily, leaning back and rubbing his temples with his hand. “I left the mirror behind, didn’t I? This is--” 

“Not your fault,” Cedric and Remus said, almost in perfect unison. 

“You were panicked, Sirius,” Remus continued, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “We both were. Tonks showed up here screaming. I had the horrible thought that it must be Tanwen--that seemed the only conceivable explanation for her urgency.” He glanced meaningfully towards Harry’s boyfriend, “When it was Cedric, I think my heart almost stopped. If...if we hadn’t had Thea around to pull us together I think I might have ended up forgetting my own wand.” 

“And I wasn’t even there,” Amos muttered bitterly. 

Cedric raised an eyebrow, “Who’s…Tanwen?” 

“A...another Order member,” Remus said slowly. “Not important.” 

Sirius was silent for a long, tense moment, before he turned back to Harry. “How did you even get to London? You said the Floo system at Hogwarts was cut off.” 

“Thestrals,” Harry said flatly, feeling suddenly overcome by a wave of exhaustion, “We flew on Thestrals. But that was after we...dealt with Umbridge.” 

Cedric’s expression flashed with alarm, “Harry! What happened with Umbridge?” 

_ She tried to torture me,  _ Harry thought darkly,  _ but she’s not very good at it.  _ “She caught us trying to talk to the Order through the Floo; Hermione insisted we try to contact you again. Um _ bitch  _ bit off more than she could chew when it came to the DA,”Cedric looked like he wanted to say more on the matter, Harry really hoped he didn’t, “And Luna Lovegood suggested we fly Thestrals to London, so we did. We got there, we fought them, then you showed up.” Harry felt himself numbly getting to his feet, “You know the rest.” 

“Did you manage to get to the Floo before she caught you?” Sirius asked, his voice suddenly icier than it had been. 

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly, frowning. “Why does it matter? There was no one here besides Kreacher, you were out looking for Cedric.” 

“If Kreacher was here he could have reached me,” Sirius said angrily, getting to his feet. “He  _ should have _ contacted me. I’ll kill the little beast! Kreacher!” 

There was true darkness in his godfather’s voice now, something edging on unhinged. Harry was reminded that, for all the progress he had made since then, Sirius had spent more than a decade wrongfully imprisoned and surrounded by Dementors. 

Kreacher appeared in a handful of seconds, looking just as happy to see them as usual. “Master called?” 

Sirius’ wand was quickly in hand. “I’ll kill him!  _ Labe-- _ ” 

“Sirius!” Remus was on his feet in a flash, stepping directly in front of his soulmate. 

“Moony he--” 

“Sirius,” Remus’ ton was gentle, but firm. “Sirius, just talk to me for a second.” 

“How would you feel if they weren’t sitting here right now?” Sirius demanded hoarsely, waving towards Harry and Cedric. “It would be his fault, it is his fault! Stand aside. I’ll kill him. He is a danger to all of us.” 

Kreacher remained as sullen as ever, his posture bowed but his expression as bitter as always. Looking at him, Harry felt a sudden wave of his own anger building in his chest, he hadn’t connected Kreacher with what had happened before, not really. 

Unbidden the memory of Hermione, unconscious and barely breathing came to his mind eye. 

Slowly, Remus reached out and covered Sirius’ wand hand with his own, looking Sirius intently in the eyes as he lowered their hands. “Don’t defile your hands with your family’s dark mark just to remove a bitter creature from this earth. Let the past go. I know you; you’re stronger than this. Harry and Cedric are sitting right here, right now Sunshine. Look at them. They are okay. We are okay.” 

“I…” Sirius trailed off, turning to look at Harry and Cedric. Harry met eyes with his godfather and watched something deflate inside him, then abruptly harden. Sirius turned back to Kreacher sharply, “Out of my sight, Kreacher. I don’t want any of us to see you here unless you are called.” 

And just like that, rather anticlimactically, Kreacher disappeared with a pop. 

“That,” Harry forced himself to look away, studying the grain of the table intently, “That’s all of it.” 

After a very long, tense moment, Cedric spoke with more bitterness than Harry was used to hearing in his soulmate’s voice. “Well, that went great. Glad to know we sorted that problem out. That’s all you need to know for the Order meeting.” A moment later he was pushing himself abruptly to his feet, not even looking back. 

“Wait,” Harry was on his feet a heartbeat after him, reaching out for Cedric’s shoulder. 

Cedric flinched like he had been burned by a hot iron. Harry felt his heart shatter. 

“I just…” Cedric sighed deeply. “I just need to be alone for a bit.” 

“Loneliness can be a poison that feels like a cure, Cedric,” Remus said softly, his gaze kind as he looked at the younger wizard. “You don’t have to be alone.” 

“I want to be,” Cedric turned to Harry for one moment, seemingly hesitated, and then turned and walked away. Harry watched him go, feeling utterly helpless. 

“Harry…” 

“I’m alright,” he said, not even thinking about the response. 

_ Liar.  _

“Harry,” Amos stood up, joining Remus and Sirius. “Sooner or later--” 

Harry brushed off the hand on his shoulder, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. “I said I’m alright. Cedric’s the one who…” 

“We all lost someone,” Amos said gently. “And Cedric’s not the only one who came back with scars.” 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “but...I’ve been through this before. Sort of, at least. I’ll be alright, I promise. It’s just...he blames himself. And I hate seeing that.” 

“I’ll try to talk to him later,” Remus said after a moment, “if you promise to talk to him the next time you have a nightmare.” 

Harry stared at him blankly. “What? I don’t--”

“Have nightmares?” 

“Why does it matter?” he asked, frowning. 

“Cedric is used to protecting you, Harry,” Remus explained. “Frankly, he’s been better than we have at it the past year. He’s not used to getting hurt, to needing protection. His instinct is to comfort others...and he finds comfort in being able to do that, especially for you. Plus, you need it too.” 

“I...okay.” Harry relented. “I’m going to go find something quiet to do. Headache.” 

Grimmauld Place had never felt quite this much like a cage. The feeling of claustrophobia had returned, like a crushing weight pressing in from every direction, making it hard to breath. Talking about the Ministry had been as difficult as Harry expected, but it wasn’t that or even Kreacher that he couldn’t stop thinking about. 

Cedric had flinched away from him like he expected...pain. 

Harry wished they could leave Number Twelve together--maybe fly on his  _ Firebolt  _ and Cedric’s  _ Nimbus  _ as fast as possible, letting the rush of wind take away all the heaviness that lingered in the air. 

* * *

As per the schedule Madam Pomfrey had insisted they keep to, just after lunch Cedric took his potions and mentally braced himself for a battle of physical therapy with his left hand. Logically he knew the sun was at its highest point, it was the best time to do healing magic relating to purification, but at the moment? He wanted nothing to do with it. 

He had avoided everyone since the conversation this morning, even Harry. Part of him was still upset it seemed there wasn’t any concrete plan for Kreacher--the elf put Harry’s life at risk. The smaller part of him that wanted to have the capacity for forgiveness was just...too small. Recent events had left it shriveled. 

Cedric stared angrily at the empty vial on the table in front of him, feeling waves of hatred for Bellatrix Lestrange wash over him. Whatever she had done with that stone, it had been more than a burn. It had left him with a dark curse embedded deeply in the marrow of the bones of his wrist; too deeply to be safely extracted. It was causing most of the lasting stiffness and pain. 

As long as Bellatrix Lestrange drew breath, the spell would hold and continually draw strength from her, fighting to grow and cause further damage. As a result, Cedric would have to take bitter, foul-smelling Purification Potions for the foreseeable future to counteract what magic could seep through Madam Pomfrey's healing wards. And he hated it. 

Abruptly, not quite thinking about it, Cedric picked up the empty round vial and chucked it at the wall. It shattered, spraying the ground next to the doorway of the parlor with glass. 

Remus walked in a moment later, looking between Cedric and the broken vial with a raised eyebrow, but gave no comment on it beyond a muttered,  _ “Reparo.”  _ Over the past week, the two of them had slowly developed a closer relationship. It was hard not to, with Cedric having battled Remus back over the edge of death. Mostly, it revolved around books and reading; both of them needed something to focus on. Cedric was...strangely grateful for it. 

It didn’t feel like he was trying to fill the space left behind by his mother at all. He was just entering a space of his own in Cedric’s life. And it made sense. 

“Remus,” Cedric acknowledged the man’s presence, sitting down heavily on the couch. “Where’s my dad? He usually does--” 

“Do you mind if I help you today?” Remus asked, and Cedric was suddenly struck by how tired the man looked. 

_ Is the full moon close?  _ Cedric couldn’t say for sure, but remembered that it affected Remus beyond the nights it created the transformation, and resolved to start keeping a better track of it. Beyond just being common sense when living near someone with lycanthropy, Cedric had what...what Thea had called  _ Healer’s Instinct.  _ Cedric liked to think that maybe he could help the man that way, even if it was just by being respectful. 

“That’s...fine,” Cedric said slowly. “Where is my dad? I thought he wasn’t going back to work full-time until tomorrow before the Order meeting.” 

Remus sighed deeply, sitting down beside Cedric and opening the box of tools, oils, and salves used in the physical therapy. “Between the two of us, Cedric,” Remus said quietly, “I think your dad needs a small break. All of us do, but...Thea’s not around to remind him to be gentle on himself. It’s hard for him to see you in pain, and it's a bit much at the moment with everything. He feels like he failed you, and Harry for that matter. Let...let Sirius and I take on some of his burden for a while, okay? He’ll try to be strong for you, to carry his burden no matter what. We need to make it as light as possible.” 

Cedric stared at him for a moment, startled and at a loss for words. “Okay,” he said finally. 

“Right,” Remus rested his palm on his knee for Cedric’s hand to rest in. “Right hand first.” 

The right hand was easier, just a massage of the oily potion for long term nerve damage. Cedric could have handled it on his own, would have probably insisted on it, if it weren’t for the external magic activating the potion required. The left hand took longer, requiring several topical potions to be applied to it. 

The parlor was silent, bar the occasional latin incantation from Remus, as they worked through the process. Cedric stared blankly at the skin beneath the black ink of his soulmark, the burn scar that refused to disappear. 

Between the two of them, Cedric and Harry had four curse scars. Two were from Umbridge; a woman who had effectively stolen some of the best parts of the last year--their last year at Hogwarts together--from them. One was from Voldemort, when he had stolen everything from Harry. And this one, the newest, was from Lestrange. 

_ “I’m going to kill him, Ceddy,” _ a phantom, cackling, sing-song voice whispered in his ear.  _ “Harry’s going to die screaming!”  _

“Shut up,” Cedric thought bitterly, only realizing a moment later he had spoken out loud. 

Remus gave him a pointed look as he began to put away the supplies. “I didn’t say anything, Cedric. Is the pain worse in your left hand? I know some nerve-numbing spells.” 

“Sorry,” Cedric muttered. “And no, it's fine.” 

“It’s okay,” Remus said, interlacing his fingers on his knees. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

That was a question Remus had posed to Cedric several times over the past weeks. It was always framed in such a way, said in such a way, that Cedric could feasibly answer it by talking about the most recent book he had used to escape. He could have done that again, but somehow…

He didn’t want to talk about  _ it _ . But there was something he wanted to talk about. 

“We’re moving on,” Cedric said, not knowing to whom the anger in his voice was really addressed. “We have to move on. I don’t want to move on. It makes me so fucking angry we have to move on.” 

After a long handful of heartbeat of silence, Remus took a deep, bracing breath. “I still cry about Lily and James,” he said, his voice strangely distant as he stared blankly at the fireplace. “My heart still aches, just the same as if it were yesterday. And...my heart aches for Thea, too. I haven’t moved on, and neither should you. No one ever really does, not when they lost someone they really loved. The weight of grief never gets any lighter, we just get better at carrying it. It’s how we keep them with us.” 

“It’s not enough.” 

“No,” Remus agreed. “It’s really not. But it’s all we’ve got left. And, somehow, it’s better than nothing.  _ Pain  _ is better than nothing, Cedric.” 

“No,” Cedric said bitterly, shaking his head. A moment later he was nearly shouting, surprised by the bitterness that overcame him, “No, it’s not! How can you say that, Remus? You and Dumbledore--” 

“Forget whatever nonsense Dumbledore said,” Remus cut him off firmly, resting a hand on Cedric's shoulder. “I only say that because to feel nothing is to die. And, as much pain as you are in, Cedric, I know you don’t want to die. You love Harry too much to do that to him.”

Cedric was left at a loss for words, and for several moments all he could do was stare at Remus blankly. “It would be...easier if you were wrong,” he said finally. 

“This was never going to be easy,” Remus said gently. 

“Harry…” Cedric took a deep breath. “He’s everything to me, Remus. I just want to protect him.” 

“I know.” 

“So why…” Cedric said slowly, searching for the right words, “Why did you stop Sirius?” 

Remus shrugged. “Because Kreacher could still prove useful in protecting all of you. Because I don’t want to kill a living creature unless absolutely necessary. Because I don’t want Sirius using his family magic and having nightmares about it.” 

“That,” Cedric sighed, “that makes sense. Except for--” 

“The family magic bit?” Remus turned his head. Cedric nodded. “You’re undoubtedly familiar with a bit of your own family magic. The Diggory wards and such respond to you because you carry the blood, the name, and the heirship. Your mother’s family magic is not as obvious, but just as powerful. It’s probably the only reason why a Hawthorn wand, notoriously loyal, would bond with a second wizard. The Black Family magic that Sirius was about to use, to end a House Elf’s service without clothing, you don’t have an equivalent for the Diggory family. Or if you did, it is long buried. If I hadn’t stopped him, Kreacher  _ would  _ be dead, Sirius doesn’t make idle threats. That magic reminds Sirius of everything that he hates about his past.” 

“Oh,” Cedric said faintly, not quite sure what else to say. 

“Yeah,” Remus sighed. “Cedric, having these issues does not make you weak, no matter what you’re thinking. We’re all struggling,” he stood up, resting a hand on Cedric’s shoulder. “Come to me whenever you need to talk. Until then, you might enjoy this healing journal I found in the library…” 

* * *

“Harry?” Sirius said softly, walking up to the open doorway of the library. Harry looked up from the book Hermione had sent him on soulmates, which he had been struggling to read, to see the expression on his godfather’s face. It was, no pun intended,  _ serious _ . “Can we talk?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Harry said immediately, closing the book and sitting up straighter, “is something wrong?” 

“No,” Sirius sat down on a chair adjacent to him with a heavy sigh. A slight smile twitched at the corners of his lips, “Harry, we’re family. Family means we have talks sometimes, and it doesn’t have to be bad or, well,  _ serious _ .”

Harry chuckled dryly for a moment, but the feeling was quickly followed by a painful tightening of the ever-present heartache in his chest. His smile fell, and he turned to look at Sirius, and he knew without having to ask. “But this is...serious, isn’t it? It’s not bad, but you’re uncomfortable.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius said slowly. “I think it's time I showed you something.” 

“What?” Harry raised an eyebrow, confused. 

In response, Sirius began to roll up the sleeve of his left robe. Across his wrist was a strip of aged, embroidered red fabric, covering his soulmark. Much farther up on his shoulder was another mark, also done in black ink that didn’t appear entirely physical: a second celtic knot. Unlike a soulmark, instead of initials, nestled inside of the knot were five runic symbols. 

“I’ve had this for...nearly sixteen years now. It’s the celtic knot for family,” Sirius said, his voice strangely distant as he looked down at the symbol. “And the runes… ‘chosen, father,’' he pointed at a different rune with each word, “And your name. Harry James Potter. This,” he gestured to the mark, “is a godfather’s mark. I’ve...failed the oath I took to receive it so many times, Harry. Now, I have a chance to make that right. Harry, if you--you have every right to tell me you don’t want to do this, and I will leave it alone. But, if you say yes, I...I would like to fulfill the oath I made to your parents. I would like to legally adopt you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If at all possible, new chapters will be out weekly. Thank you all for taking the time to read my work, it means more than you know.   
> As always, a huge thank you to Tree Spiral!


	3. Godfather's Mark and Burdens We Carry

**Chapter 3: Godfather's Mark and Burdens We Carry**

Harry stared at his godfather for a long moment, at a loss for words. It had, at many a point in his childhood, been a sort of fantasy. When he was young, alone in the darkness of that stupid cupboard, he had dreamed of fathers and mothers that could save him. 

But over the years that fantasy had faded, by the time Harry entered Hogwarts he was resigned to his fate, and until third year when Sirius offered him a place to stay, Harry hadn’t even allowed himself to hope. Last summer, everything changed, but so much had happened since then. Sirius had already blown those childhood dreams out of the water. 

_ Does Sirius actually...does he actually want me to be his...adoptee?  _

“Harry?” Sirius said softly, drawing him back to the present. “It--”

“Yes,” Harry said, surprised at the firmness of his voice. His chest seemed to burst with emotion: for once, not negative emotions. No, this was not pain. This was the feeling of overwhelming relief that comes with being relieved of a heavy burden you have been forced to carry far too long. “I want...I want us to be…” There his words faltered. 

_ I want us to be family.  _

But families die for each other in war. Would it be Harry, or Cedric who died for the other? Older siblings die for younger siblings. Would one of Ginny’s many brother’s die for her? Would Gavin die so Kayla could live? Mothers and fathers lay down their lives for their children. James, Lily...Thea. Would Molly or Arthur or Amos or Remus or Sirius be next?

By allowing this, was Harry just inviting danger, inviting loss, into his life? 

“Harry,” Sirius said gently, “I need to look at me.” Harry did, and the sight of his godfather’s eyes tore him away from his mind’s thoughts. “This changes nothing between us. We are already, in all ways that matter, family. I do not need a piece of parchment from the bloody Ministry to tell me that. Family isn’t blood. A godfather’s mark isn’t about blood. Remus, Cedric, Amos, Ron, Hermione, all the Weasleys--they’re your family too. And Thea was too.” Sirius’s voice was strained with emotion, and Harry was suddenly struck by the fact that his godfather had cried at the funeral. He hadn’t thought about it, but Sirius had lost her too. “You have family. You’re not alone anymore.” 

Harry was silent for a long moment, and then he moved, throwing his arms around Sirius and letting the emotions well up in silent tears. Sirius held him close, and in that embrace Harry felt something in him begin to heal. It was an old wound, almost as old as he was. But still, it began to heal. 

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Harry woke up at a dark hour of the night from a nightmare. What was different about this nightmare, however, was that it was not the graveyard or the Department of Mysteries. His restless attempt at sleep had been plagued by a dark cupboard he could not escape, no matter how loud he shouted  _ alohomora  _ and  _ bombarda _ . A belt cracked through the air, someone he loved screamed, and the darkness was only split by flashes of green. 

They were both shirtless, and at some point they had broken apart in the night, so Harry wasn’t hot, he was actually quite chilled, but he was still sweating. And his hands were shaking. Even the limited nerve damage he had faced in June had worsened his old injuries, making it nearly impossible to keep his hands still when he was anxious. Pushing himself up into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling off the side, Harry forced himself to slow his breathing. If he could avoid waking his soulmate, he wanted to. 

“Harry?” Even Cedric’s voice, a sound so sweet and familiar, felt so abruptly loud in the silence that had previously only been filled with Harry’s heavy breathing. So much for letting him sleep...but it didn’t seem like Cedric had been woken up. 

“You too?” Harry asked quietly, knowing the answer. 

Cedric shrugged, sitting up against the headboard behind him. Their hands found each other without either of them thinking about it, their fingers intertwining. “I’m not sure I even truly fell asleep.” 

“Want to talk about it?” Harry asked gently, trying, as always to keep the frustration out of his voice. 

“Do you?” Cedric retorted, sighing heavily. 

Looking away from his gentle gray eyes, Harry stared off into the darkness. His answer came in soft, almost unbidden words. “I dreamed about the Dursleys.” 

Cedric was silent for a long moment. “ _ Do _ you want to talk about it?” he asked again, a bit firmer. Harry didn’t respond immediately, and then a hand rested gently against his bare back. It tickled ever-so-slightly against the glamours he couldn’t quite remember when he had recast. “Just because we can’t see them doesn’t mean they’ve gone away, Harry. It’s...it’s okay to not be okay with that, even after everything else that happened.” 

“I…” Harry took a steadying breath. “I know.” 

“Come here,” Cedric said, and Harry didn’t argue, content to rest against Cedric and let the feel of his soulmate’s embrace help hold him together. “I’ve got you.” 

“I don’t know why, but I dreamed about the cupboard,” Harry began, still unsure where the strength to keep talking about this was coming from. “It wasn’t...It wasn’t the worse thing, but for some reason it stuck with me. Sure, the days I spent half starved in there were bad, but the winter night I spent in the shed was worse. I think if it weren’t for my magic I would have gotten frostbite.” 

At every word, Cedric’s grip on him seemed to tighten a little bit. Part of Harry wanted to stop there, to protect his soulmate from sharing in his pain. But he had learned over the past years that love was sometimes about sharing pain, even when it was hard. How could he ask Cedric to talk about what he had been through, if he couldn’t get through this? 

“It’s a wonder I’m not more claustrophobic than I already am,” Harry sighed heavily. “And when...Vernon used the belt, he would beat it against the door. I was so often afraid, caught in the dark, with nowhere to run. And logically I know that with a wand I could blast the door of that cupboard off the stairs easily, but my magic never works in my dreams. And there was...more. Screaming, just outside the door. I couldn’t quite tell who it was. Flashes of green.” 

“Like…” Cedric was clearly anxious about what to say. 

“Like with the Dementors,” Harry answered. Absentmindedly, he traced a finger across the ink of Cedric’s soulmark, across the scarred skin. “Sirius has another magical mark besides his soulmark.” 

“His...Azkaban marker?” Cedric asked, his voice confused. 

Harry shook his head. “No. Another celtic knot on his shoulder, with runes in it.” 

“A godfather mark?” Cedric’s voice was more surprised than Harry expected. 

“...Yeah?” Harry raised an eyebrow in the darkness. “He is my godfather.” 

“Yeah but,” Cedric chuckled softly. “I don’t know why I was surprised. Your family is filled with powerful magic and powerful love, Harry. Magical marks, even if they are soulmarks, are a big deal. That spell wouldn’t have worked unless...well unless Sirius truly loved your parents as family, you as much as his own blood. It’s a lot more than just some Ministry paperwork. I can’t believe anyone would have incarcerated him with a mark like that.” 

“Sirius wants to adopt me,” Harry answered, struggling with the emotions swamping him at Cedric’s words. Another flash of anger at Sirius’ years in Azkaban. Grief, for those years, for his parents. And, once again, overwhelming love. 

“Hardly surprising,” Harry could feel Cedric’s smile, even in the darkness. “It’s only right.” 

“And I’m afraid of losing him,” Harry said, feeling as though he had gained some power over the fear by naming it. He ploughed onwards, the words tumbling out of him. “And Sirius said we’re all already family, and now I’m even more afraid of losing you all.” Thea’s absence hung as heavily as it always did. “I can’t lose him. I can’t lose you.”

“Harry…” Cedric pressed a kiss against his hair, still cradling him close. “We’re afraid of losing you too, you know that right? That fear...that’s not just something we have to keep fighting in spite of; it’s  _ why  _ we’re fighting. If not for each other, for what?” Cedric sighed heavily. “That doesn’t make it easy.” 

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be easy,” Harry replied. “Cedric…” 

“I know,” Cedric said grimly. “I need...It’s harder than I thought it would ever be. Sooner or later I’m going to have to think about it though, really think about it. And then I’m going to be a mess. I just don’t have the energy for that yet.” 

“Okay,” Harry tightened his grip on his soulmate’s hand. “We should try to get some sleep before Remus drags us down for toast.” 

“I think I might be able to manage that.” 

“I’m right here,” Harry said softly moments later, his arms and legs intertwined with Cedric’s. 

_ I love you... _ and he didn’t even need to say it for it to be heard. 

“And you’re not alone.” 

_ You are loved... _ and he didn’t even need to hear it for it to be known. 

* * *

Letters from Gavin and James lay open on his desk. Cedric sat with a quill in hand, trying once again to find the words to articulate what he wanted to say. In the two weeks that had passed he had received seven letters from them, including one from Kayla. 

James tried to include whatever positive news he could, talking about the Magizoology Apprenticeship he had applied to, mostly. He mentioned in passing his grandparents weren’t officially joining the Order, but had offered the support of most of the Shafiq estates to Dumbledore. There wasn’t very much positive news for him to talk about though. Kayla and Gavin had even less. 

Gavin had almost withdrawn his application to the Auror Program with their mother’s health declining even farther. James had to talk him out of it. From the sound of it, Gavin and Kayla had practically already moved into the Shafiq household. James was still keeping his feelings to himself, that was much clear, but Cedric couldn’t help wonder if the two of them might be able to find some comfort in each other in the midst of all the chaos. 

On the other hand, Cedric still had no idea how Gavin felt about it. Gavin was much more withdrawn about these things, he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve like James. Maybe it was for the best; Cedric would hate for James to get hurt. But surely it hurt keeping his feelings to himself? 

Cedric still remembered that awful period where he and Harry were dancing around each other with their feelings. It had taken nearly dying to wake them up, and he could only hope it wouldn’t take that for James and Gavin. 

They were clearly worried about him, and Harry for that matter, and asked often when they might be able to visit. Before now, Cedric just hadn’t been able to find the energy to write back to them. He knew Harry had written them once or twice at least, so he didn’t feel too badly about it, but these people were like family to him. He owed them a response. 

But what was there to say? There were things they needed to know, clearly, but how could he put all of that in words? 

_ James,  _

Cedric’s quill hovered, part of him knowing exactly what he wanted to write next and another part screaming that putting it in ink would make it real. But surely...in the past, he could have talked to the two of them about everything. But in the past, things had been so much simpler. 

_ You should tell Gavin.  _

No, that was too direct, and James would never listen to it anyways. Scowling, Cedric crossed the sentence out, already feeling thoroughly frustrated with himself.

_ I’m glad you're with Gavin. I wish I could be there with you both, Gavin’s not the only one who needs comforting you know. He’ll be strong for Kayla and you’ll be strong for him, just make sure you let Gavin and I be strong for you too, alright?  _

That would have to do. 

_ The panic attacks are back. I guess I’m a hypocrite. Except it's different now, isn’t it? Everything is different now, nothing is simple. It’s so much worse than it used to be. I flinch at loud noises and surprises, at the littlest things. Everyone here...even Harry, to an extent, looks at me like I’m fragile. Harry tries not to, I can tell. But it just makes it so much worse.  _

_ Everyone just dances around the words. I was tortured, James. I was tortured and I am definitely not okay with that and my mom is gone and Harry is still hurting and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.  _

_ Because the worst part is that I feel fragile. I feel powerless. In the past, I always thought I would be strong enough to protect Harry. But I wasn’t, I’m not. He got hurt trying to protect me. I was so afraid when those Death Eaters captured me. I thought I was going to die. But I was even more afraid when Harry and all of you showed up.  _

_ Maybe this is selfish of me, but I never want to feel like that again. And when I feel weak, when I can’t even play the fucking piano because my hand hurts and shakes, I know I am going to feel like that again before this is all said and done.  _

_ I thought the fact that I fought would make me feel better. I always thought that was how Harry survived last year, at least he was able to tell himself he fought. But now I have no idea how Harry had survived what he went through, because if anything it makes me feel worse. I fought, and I just wasn’t strong enough.  _

_ I even had my wand. I had my wand. I had my wand, and I just wasn’t strong enough to protect myself. So how can I expect to protect anyone, especially someone as important to me as Harry is? And no matter what we do, Harry is always going to be drawn into the center of all of this.  _

_ And after she snapped my wand...I practically gave up.  _

_ She said she was going to kill me. I guess I would be dead if I wasn’t the bait for Harry. Maybe that would make things easier.  _

His handwriting had gotten progressively worse as he went down the page, as he got to that last sentence it became nearly illegible. Cedric’s lungs were constricting in his chest, squeezing all the air out. There were tears in his eyes, dripping down onto the page. The ink blurred and spread, further destroying the words. 

_ I can’t send this.  _

Cedric drew his wand and muttered a quick,  _ “Incendio,”  _ turning the parchment quickly to fire and then ash. Trying to write about this wasn’t a good idea, it just led to the thoughts he pushed aside being put down in a manner that forced him to acknowledge them. And some of those thoughts scared him. 

It dawned on him then that the wand in his hand wasn’t his at all; it was his mother’s. Had he really been using it for days, not even giving that much thought? It just felt...natural in his hand. This wand, a hawthorn wand, had chosen him. There was something to be said for that. A wand designed for combat and strength had chosen him, in the middle of battle. What did that mean for his future? 

Merlin, he missed her. The ache was sometimes quiet, sometimes loud, but always lingering. There was no silence, only echoing grief. He would have given almost anything just to hear her voice--to hear  _ ‘mo leanbh’  _ calling to him from the other room in her soft accent--but that was a sound gone from the world forever. She was gone. 

And yet, her wand had chosen him. 

How was he supposed to fill that hole Bellatrix Lestrange had torn out of the heart of his family? It was too much; the shoes were too big to fill. He couldn’t even figure out how to help Harry before, and now he couldn’t even help himself. What were they going to do? Harry had to eventually face Voldemort and win or die, and if he died Cedric was sure he would never survive it. 

His hands were shaking. Cedric hated that, another reminder of how weak and powerless he was. And his left hand still hurt, phantom licks of fire running along the nerves from the lingering curse. It was always worse when he had a panic attack. 

If his mom were here she would know what to do, Merlin, what he wouldn’t give to ask her advice. 

_ But she’s not here.  _

A sob escaped him, something broken and small. And he hated that too, how small it was, how small he felt. Flashes of memories were winding through his mind, the Battle of the Department of Mysteries haunting him. Most of the specifics were still hard to remember; it had been one long nightmare filled with pain and fueled by adrenaline. But one thing still stood out clearly; the sight of the Order arriving, of his mother in battle. It had been one thing to know she was powerful and quite another to behold. 

That was the kind of magic that had flowed through this wand before. How could he possibly live up to that? Would St.Mungo's Apprenticeship Program even still consider him? Surely they would have let him reschedule an interview earlier, but by now he had missed the deadline...thinking about that just gave him a headache of stress. 

Once again, he found his mother’s words echoing back at him across the years. And it hurt, with that dull ache that was steadily becoming familiar, because she wasn’t there, but there was still some comfort to be found in spite of that pain. 

_ “Don’t focus on the mountain, mo leanbh, focus on the next step. Focus on what you can do right now. Exist in this day, this hour, this minute, this moment. Breathe.”  _

Cedric took in a shaky, but deep breath. Staring down at the pile of ash sitting on his desk, he forced himself to examine the world before him plainly and ignore the whispering voices of doubt. 

Two years ago, before he met Harry, back when he first decided he wanted to be a healer, he would have never imagined any of this turning out like it had. But he didn’t get the luxury of an easy life on the sidelines of this battle. He had to fight. 

There was something he could do. He could demand to join the Order. His dad wouldn’t like it. Remus and Sirius wouldn’t like it. Harry wouldn’t like it. But Cedric had survived, and he was going to take control of how he lived before he died. 

Regaining his composure slightly, Cedric began a new letter to James, and then to Gavin.

_ James,  _

_ We need to talk, in person. There’s too much to put into writing. I will write again when I know when you can visit.  _

_ Cedric.  _

* * *

That evening, it became official. 

It was a surprisingly short piece of parchment. Sirius and Amos had gone to the Ministry after they filled out the preliminary forms, and they had returned with the final document. With the godfather’s mark on Sirius’ shoulder and Harry having no close magical relatives, nobody in the Ministry could reasonably protest the adoption. Which left them with one, surprisingly short compared to the other forms they had filled out, piece of parchment. Sirius had signed with his wand. Amos, Remus, and Cedric had signed as witnesses. Now Harry just had to sign. 

His hand shook as he held his wand, thought he did not feel anxious for once. No, fear was strangely absent here. Yet still, there was great emotion welling up in his chest. What was it? Eagerness, anticipation, elation...hope. 

_ Harry James Potter.  _

Like the other signatures on the parchment, the name glowed brightly with magical light for a moment, then faded to a solid black, as if it had been written by any old regular quill. A handful of seconds later the glow returned in every character on the page, the spell laid into the form activating, and the parchment was enveloped in a magical flame. 

Wisps of light gathered around Sirius, forming two ghostly human forms, which each placed a hand on his shoulders. Sirius tensed, staring at them as if he could hear something the rest of them were deaf to. A moment later the mark on his shoulder glowed, and then the light faded. 

The moment held an undeniable weight of significance about it. Harry felt a burden being lifted off his shoulders. There were two magical bonds between Harry and Sirius now: the godfather’s bond and the Ministry contract. He had lost some autonomy, some freedom. But with that independence had come heavy responsibility, and now Sirius had picked up that burden for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thank you to Tree Spiral!  
> There will likely be a 1-2 week hiatus after this chapter.


	4. Protection

**Chapter 4: Protection**

An hour before they planned to have lunch, Cedric took a deep breath and sat down across the table from his father, Remus, and Sirius. “I’m going to join the Order,” Cedric said, letting the words tumble out of him before he lost his nerve. 

There was no clearer path forward than this, but the thought of actually doing it had lost any delusions of grandeur that might have once been attached to it. The stories of his youth, of the heroes that fought in wars to vanquish evil, had been stripped of the luster of naivety by the past year. 

He didn’t want to be fighting in this war. No one on their side wanted to--it was only the enemy that found joy in the violence and pain. But Cedric did not have a choice. His mother had left a hole in the ranks of the Order, a hole he intended to fill and grow beyond. If Harry--the man Cedric loved, his soulmate--was ever to have a chance at living at all, at the happiness he deserved after everything he had endured, the war had to be won. 

“What?” Cedric turned abruptly, to see it was Sirius that had spoken. The look on the man’s face was confusion and concern. “Son, where is this coming from?” 

_ You’re still worried about me... _ Cedric clenched his hand around the edge of the table to keep it from shaking, even as his knuckles turned white and fingers began to ache. That pain was alright, it was a distraction from the ever-constant itching and tingling of the curse laid within the bone of his wrist.  _ And you think this is an unhealthy way of trying to cope. You’re probably right. I want to destroy her.  _

_ “I’m gonna kill him, little Ceddy.”  _

_ Shut up.  _

“Cedric,” Remus’ voice pulled his attention back to the table before him. The concern on their faces, while well intentioned, was something he was quickly growing sick of. “This is...a big decision. It's your decision to make, but are you sure you’re in the right mindset to be making it right now?” 

“I’m not asking,” Cedric bit back the snarl fighting its way into his voice, hating the anger churning in his stomach. Slowly he reached into his pocket and set his wand, the wand of Hawthorne that had chosen his mother before him, on the table. “I think if I won this over in the middle of battle, I’ve more than proved myself capable.” 

“No one’s doubting your capability, Cedric,” Sirius said quietly. 

Cedric’s father leaned heavily on his hands at the table, sighing. “But it’s not your decision to make, actually, Cedric. I’m still your father. If I say no, Dumbledore won’t let you join.” 

“What?” Cedric stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words. “Some of the wizards and witches from my year at Hogwarts are already joining, Dad. Gavin and James will want to when they find out exactly what this is.” 

“Cedric, son,” Amos Diggory leaned forward to rest a hand on his arm, Cedric pulled back before he could stop himself, flinching away. His father looked saddened by the movement for a moment, then pressed on. “You’re hurt. You’re weak. You’re...healing. I can’t lose you too. Stay to the sidelines of this war, just for a little longer, if only to spare me that pain.” 

_ You’re weak. You’re weak. You’re weak. You’re weak. You’re weak. You’re-- _

“Cedric,” Sirius’ voice was firmer than his father’s and Remus’. Somehow, it didn’t feel like it was laced with the concern that made his stomach churn. “You’ve been through a battle, and I know it feels like you’re losing control of the world around you. You might be an adult...but you’re still just young. You don’t have to take on this burden yet. And, Cedric, for the record, revenge is overrated. I want to kill my cousin more than anyone, but that won’t erase what happened. It won’t bring Thea back.” 

_ No,  _ Cedric thought, taking a deep breath as he bit back the pang of emotion that struck him in the chest with his mother’s name.  _ It won’t bring her back, but it might save Harry or someone else from suffering the same fate. And maybe it will get rid of her voice in my head.  _

“None of you get it,” Cedric said heavily, leaning back and clenching his teeth. “None of you--” 

“We entered the first war when we were still in Hogwarts,” Remus said quietly, cutting him off just as his voice was starting to raise above a shout. “Cedric, we get it. But there weren’t as many adults fighting then, and there are now. You shouldn’t--” 

“Harry’s my soulmate!” Cedric stood up abruptly, his chair clattering behind him as it was shoved backwards. “I love him more than life itself and I would gladly die to give him even a chance at living. He’s never known safety. Until this is over, he’ll never know peace. I’m joining the Order, whether the three of you approve or disprove, I don’t care.” 

Sirius gestured in the general direction of Harry’s room. “And have you even thought about how he feels, Cedric? How do you think he would feel if you died? How do you think any of us would feel? This isn’t a war we need you to die for. This is a war we need you and Harry to live through, to survive, because that’s what all of us are fighting for.”

“Cedric?” 

Cedric turned abruptly around at the new voice, panicking. Harry was standing in the doorway of the hallway, frowning at him with a mixture of hurt and anger. Cedric wanted to kick himself for not figuring out how to talk about this with his soulmate before this moment. 

“Harry…” he trailed off, not sure what to say. 

“You’re going to join the Order while I’m kept out, aren’t you?” Harry scowled and turned to his godfather. “You can’t let him join and keep me to the sidelines!” 

Sirius sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “Cedric’s not joining the Order, Harry, and neither are you, for the record. At least, not right now. You deserve to live without that burden for a little bit longer.” 

“I have a right to join this fight!” Cedric snapped back, turning to the adults. “The people I love are in danger and you’re not letting me do anything about it.” 

_ Because you're weak. You let yourself get captured. You couldn’t even handle one Death Eater.  _

“If Cedric’s joining, I’m joining,” Harry said flatly, scowling at all of them. Cedric winced, not having expected how much Harry’s anger turned towards him would hurt. 

“Absolutely not,” Sirius said. Remus nodded in agreement. “Harry, we’ve been over this. You’re still in Hogwarts and you’re not seventeen yet. You’re not joining the Order.” 

Harry threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “Great, maybe I should tell Voldemort that the  _ next  _ time he comes after me. _ ‘You can’t murder me, Mr. Voldemort, I’m still in Hogwarts and I’m not seventeen yet.’ _ Wish I’d thought of that the last five times.” There was pain in his young voice, emotions that quivered at the edge of the sound. 

“Harry…” Cedric immediately felt the frustration that had consumed him only moments before easing away, replaced only by concern. 

There were tears in Harry’s eyes when he turned to look at Cedric. “Don’t, Cedric. I need to be alone for a bit.” As much as it hurt to stay put, as much as he wanted to follow, he let Harry go. 

A long silence followed. Remus looked grim, Sirius appeared to be wrestling with the weight of the world, and Cedric’s father really just looked tired. Once again, Cedric was struck by how much his mother’s death had aged all of them. It was Remus who finally broke the silence. 

“It’s unfortunate to say,” he began slowly, eyeing the other two wizards warily, “Cedric and Harry do have a point.” 

Sirius turned to his soulmate, speaking rapidly, “I’m not letting my son…” and then abruptly trailing off, as if the weight of the words was suddenly too much. After a moment to compose himself, he continued, “Harry is still in Hogwarts.” 

“And Cedric has barely graduated!” Cedric’s father pointed out, throwing up a hand almost as if he was beginning to suspect this was a fight he might not be able to win. 

“Both of them have faced Voldemort himself more than the three of us  _ combined _ ,” Remus heaved a heavy sigh, leaning against the table. “And Cedric has been there, ever since Harry’s fourth year. I’m not saying we should consider letting Harry charge out onto the frontlines--or Cedric for that matter. But Cedric has more than proved himself, and I think it would be beneficial to all of us for him to join. Someone close to Harry, close to Harry in a way that an adult can’t be and really only his soulmate can be, needs to be informed. And, to be honest, I think us old folk could stand to realize this isn’t just our fight anymore. Besides, the Weasley twins are joining. It’s stupid to try to stop Cedric, despite how we all feel about this.” 

Cedric stared at the man for a long moment, struck wordless that someone had listened. “Thank you,” he said finally, not having much else to say. 

“Just remember, all of this comes from a place of love, Cedric. Sirius and I...well, there weren’t any adults to stop us from joining last time. And don’t thank me,” Remus added gravely, “It’s really not up to us. It’s up to Dumbledore.” 

Cedric’s father sighed wearily, “But we all know what he will say. Just promise me you’ll be careful, son. I can’t lose you too.” 

A snippet of a memory flashed through his mind; a warm sunny day in August, two years before his Hogwarts letter arrived. A simpler time. A father who had been able to laugh, carefree, as he brought out the new broomstick. A mother who chided father and son as they went out to the Quidditch pitch,  _ “Just promise me you’ll be careful! I don’t want to mend any broken bones before dinner.”  _

_ Always promises, isn’t it? None of us can guarantee we’ll keep them. _

“Of course, Dad,” Cedric tried for a smile, and found it was nearly impossible. 

Sirius turned to Cedric then. “You have to promise me that if we tell you to keep something from Harry to protect him, you will. You have to.” 

Cedric straightened, his voice taking on a weight it hadn’t had before. “Sirius, you know I would never do anything to endanger Harry. But, frankly, the judgement of the Order on what to tell Harry in the past wasn’t exactly steller. So I will use my own. But I will always protect him.” 

* * *

“Harry?” 

The voice was soft, filled with love. It was Cedric’s voice, a voice he could normally listen to for hours on end and never tire of, a voice he would have gladly lost himself in if possible. Yet still, in that moment Harry flinched, nearly falling out of his chair. 

Harry had made a conscious effort over the last hour to calm down. He spent so much of the past year angry--at Umbridge, at Dumbledore, at the Ministry--that he was honestly tired of it. He hated being angry at the people in Grimmauld, especially Cedric. But calming down wasn’t working very well. His emotions were still wound too tightly, on the edge of snapping

Hence why he flinched. 

“I…” Cedric trailed off. “Harry, talk to me.” 

Slowly, Harry looked up. Clashing emotions erupted in his chest as he met his soulmate’s eyes, and he honestly didn’t know whether he wanted to scream or cry. Or both. “You didn’t talk to me. You didn’t talk to me about this, first. You didn’t think--” 

“Of course I did,” Cedric said heavily, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “Harry, of course I thought about you, I could never not think about you.” 

“Then why didn’t you talk to me first?” 

“Because I was afraid you would talk me out of it, Harry.” Cedric said softly. “And I was afraid you would try to join too. And I was afraid of...everything. I’m afraid of everything, Harry.” 

“They're letting you join, aren’t they,” Harry said softly, knowing it was true before Cedric answered. “You, but not me.” 

“We just want to protect you.” 

“Well maybe I don’t want protecting Cedric!” Harry snapped, turning around. “People die protecting me! How many times have you come close to...Since you’ve known me, the danger in your life has increased exponentially.” 

Cedric took another step forward, stopping when Harry pulled away with a grimace. “Harry...we’ve had this conversation before. How many times will it take? I love you. Any risk I take for that is worth it. I care too much…” 

“You think I don’t care just as much, fear just as much? Cedric, I went to the Ministry prepared to die for you!” 

“Harry!” Cedric grabbed ahold of him by the shoulders--gently, but firmly. “Listen to yourself, love. You’re not even sixteen yet. You shouldn’t be prepared to die, for anyone. We’re in this together, but let me take this on my own for now.” 

“Cedric…” Harry sighed, feeling the anger in him deflating. Suddenly tired, he found himself leaning into his soulmate’s embrace, needing the feeling of security. “Why do you have to do this?” 

“It’s a whole lot bigger than us, Harry,” Cedric said softly, breaking apart only to move and sit on the bed. Harry followed, sitting down and leaning against him. “When I…” Cedric began slowly, as if the words were difficult to even form. Harry laced his fingers together with Cedric’s, squeezing them in gentle reassurance. 

“When I was captured I felt more powerless than I have in my entire life. And it was so much worse than the graveyard once I realized I was just bait for you. I tried to tell myself I had to be strong, I tried to fight. I even tried to get you to stay away. But the truth is, I was terrified for...myself too. And when you showed up...I’ve never been so relieved. But running to you, surviving that battle, keeping Remus alive, it was all the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Pain, fear, danger, you’re caught up in all of it. And I’m with you, til the end, so I’m caught up in all of it. But I don’t want anyone to have to endure what we have had to, I want a world in which we have some peace. So I have to do this. For everyone. For you. And for myself. Because I’m selfish Harry, and I want a future with you more than anything.” 

At a loss for words, Harry pulled Cedric closer, hoping more than anything they had the strength to survive the war and reach that future together. 

* * *

Harry, Cedric, and Remus were there to greet Mrs. Weasley and Ron when they arrived. Mrs. Weasley had arrived early to prepare the food for the Order meeting, and Ron had written earlier, wanting to see Harry and Cedric. 

“You look like hell,” Ron remarked frankly, pulling Harry into a hug. “Sorry I didn’t visit sooner.” 

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, following suit with her son and pulling both Harry and Cedric into a Weasley-worthy hug. “Yes, I thought so. The Weasleys are moving back into Grimmauld Place. It’s far too lonely here for the five of you to be alone.” 

Ron, Harry, and Cedric spent several hours talking, consciously avoiding difficult subjects.

Members of the Order began to arrive at half past four. After Ron went upstairs, Cedric stayed to talk to Harry in the room between the entrance hallway and the kitchen for a while, knowing Harry was still upset about being left out of the meeting.

Mr. Weasley arrived first, having come directly from a day of work at the Ministry. Ginny was with him, though she would be relegated to the upstairs with Ron and Harry during the actual meeting. The twins Flooed in from their shop and stopped to talk to Harry and Cedric for a moment before going on to the kitchen. To Harry and Cedric’s surprise, Professor McGonagall arrived next, striding through the door with her usual air of authority and purpose. She gave them a nod, which somehow managed to carry both an air of respect and sympathy about it. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt, with Tonks and another wizard that Cedric didn’t recognize but felt like he must have met briefly on some occasion, arrived after her. Shacklebolt went on to the kitchen without more than a nod in their direction, but Tonks and her companion stopped to talk to Harry and Cedric for a moment. 

“Wotcher, Harry, Cedric,” Tonks said, her tone a bit forcefully light. “Heard you’ll be joining us tonight, Cedric?” 

Cedric nodded, trying not to convey how nervous he was feeling about it now, “I will be.” 

Tonks smiled gently at him, reaching to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. There was a red strip of cloth tied around her wrist now, Cedric noticed and couldn’t remember if it had been there before. “Your mother would be proud of you, Cedric.” 

Cedric nodded again, not trusting his voice to not break. 

“Are you going to introduce me love, or am I going to have to stand here awkwardly forever?” a light voice, with a distinctively Welsh accent, said from behind Tonks. 

Tonks grinned, turning to her companion. “Yes, of course. Cedric, Harry, this is my partner, Tanwen. They work in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Dumbledore wants Tanwen to join the Order and work with Charlie to see what help we can get abroad.” 

_ Ah,  _ Cedric thought to himself,  _ wixen, not wizard. So this is Tanwen.  _

“And I’m not one to sit on the sidelines forever,” Tanwen added with a smile. 

“Nice to meet you,” Harry said. 

“We’ve got to get on to the meeting now,” Tonks nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Good to see you, Harry.”

Harry turned to Cedric. “I think I’m going to go join Ginny and Ron upstairs,” he added, not without a hint of bitterness. “The meeting is about to start.” 

“Okay, and hey,” Cedric grabbed gently onto Harry’s wrist, stopping him from walking away. “You know I’ll tell you everything, right?” 

Harry shook his head grimly. “No, Cedric, I really don’t. You might tell me more than them, but you’ll still try to protect me. If there’s something you think would be dangerous for me to know, you won’t tell me. And…” he sighed, squeezing Cedric’s hand gently before letting it go, “I don’t blame you for it. It’s okay.” 

As Harry was walking away, Cedric turned to see one of Order members he was less than thrilled to be around had walked through the door. Professor Snape continued onto the meeting room with a sneer, which was of course typical, and a small, quite disdainful “hmph.” 

Not long after that, Dumbledore arrived. “Cedric, my boy,” he said casually, as if they had just met in the hallway on any other day. “Come along now, it doesn’t do well to be late when you have people waiting on you.” 

* * *

Finally upstairs in his room, where Ron and Ginny were waiting, Harry sat down on the bed with a sigh of frustration. 

“I’ll second that, mate,” Ron said. With a wave in the general direction of the kitchen, he added, “This is so much worse than last summer. We went through the same year as the twins and Cedric, yet somehow they’re mature enough and we’re not.” 

“I don’t think it’s really about that,” Ginny said, shrugging her shoulders. “I would gladly follow you back into any fight, Harry, but the Ministry battle was terrifying. I get now why they wanted to protect us, especially you, from everything last summer.” 

“But--” 

“She’s right, Ron,” Harry cut off his best friend. “Anyways, let’s talk about something else, right? This house is filled with too many negative emotions. Please tell me one of you has had something remotely positive happen over the past few weeks.” 

“Well…” Ron said after a moment, smirking at his sister. “Someone has been spending an awfully large amount of time away from the Burrow at the neighbors’…” 

“Oh shut up Ron,” Ginny said, though there wasn’t truly anger in her voice as she chucked one of the pillows at her brother. “Luna’s just a friend.” 

“Uh huh,” Ron and Harry said at the same time, laughing as Ginny started to blush. 

And it felt good to laugh, it really did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Tree Spiral!  
> And, in retrospect, Harry does come off a little whiny in this chapter but...he's still only 15. And he's in an environment with adults that actually care for literally the first time. All my boys need therapy. Cut them some slack.   
> Updates are going to be on a biweekly basis from here for the rest of the foreseeable future. Thank you so much to everyone still reading this, I never thought this would go so far.


	5. The Order Reconvenes

**Chapter 5: The Order Reconvenes**

“There are important matters to discuss here tonight,” Dumbledore said solemnly as he took the chair at the head of the table. 

To Dumbledore’s right sat Remus, Sirius, Amos, and Cedric. Cedric had the oddly certain feeling he was sitting in a chair his mother had once occupied. Professor McGonagall sat directly to the Headmaster’s left, followed by Snape, who was intermittently glaring at Cedric and the Weasley Twins. All the post-school Weasleys bar Charlie, who was out of the country, and Percy, who was still quarrelling with his family, were present. Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle, and Hestia Jones were also present. Shacklebolt, Tonks, and Tanwen had seated themselves to Cedric’s right, and Cedric absentmindedly noticed a pattern of green vines and purple flowers tattooed across the back of Tanwen’s copper-skinned hands. 

The strange thing was that it appeared to be muggle ink. 

“Indeed there are, Headmaster,” Snape said icily, breaking Cedric’s train of thought. “What use does the Order have for mere  _ children _ ?” 

Snape said the word  _ children  _ in much the same way a person might say  _ chizpurfle,  _ or  _ pixie,  _ or  _ flobberworm.  _ He, Cedric reflected, thinking back with more than a twinge of anger at how difficult Snape had made life for Harry, really wasn’t well suited to be a teacher. 

“Cedric, Fred, and George all have their parents’ consent,” Dumbledore said calmly. “More importantly, they are all over seventeen and have, one way or another, left Hogwarts.” 

“Mr. Diggory has an emotional attachment to Potter than will cloud his judgement, I--” 

“Quite a few of us here have  _ emotional attachments _ to Harry,” Remus interrupted Snape before he could continue: a wise decision, as Sirius had been looking rather tense. “This is war, we need every wizard, witch, and wixen willing to fight. Fred and George’s inventions and ingenuity will give us advantages we would be unwise to throw away. And Cedric saved my life. I suggest we get onto the more important matters instead of discussing our membership at great lengths.” 

“Indeed,” Dumbledore concurred, and thankfully nothing else was said on the matter for the time being, though Snape retained his typical sunny expression steadfastly through the meeting. “I believe it prudent to first recount for the general knowledge of the people assembled here the recent events that took place at the Ministry.” 

Cedric was immediately glad he and Harry had recounted what had happened to Remus, Sirius, and Amos. They, along with Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Dumbledore, were able to tell almost all of the story, only asking Cedric to clarify points at occasional intervals. Tonks had been the first to realize something was wrong when Cedric didn’t come back from the interview, but none of them knew how to find him. At one point Snape entered the conversation, revealing that it was he who had contacted the Order. 

_ You could have given Harry some sort of signal, before they all rushed off like that to save me,  _ Cedric thought bitterly.  _ But,  _ another voice said,  _ it took so long for the Order to get there. You’d probably be dead if they hadn’t rushed off to save you.  _

This recounting still took a considerable amount of time; he had the distinct feeling that it had begun to rain outside. Though the details of what happened to Cedric were kept as vague as possible, a lot could be left unsaid and still understood. 

_ They all went through the last war,  _ Cedric thought, gritting his teeth to maintain a grip on the panic rising in his chest as his memories tried to force themselves to the surface.  _ Surely they do not think you are weak for getting captured? You fought, and you kept fighting. You survived.  _ Yet it was impossible not to remember little details, even as he maintained enough of a hold on the panic to keep his voice level. 

The way Lestrange smiled, and the way her voice lilted in that sing-songy patronizing tone. The way his stomach had tried to heave with nausea, but was empty of anything to expel. The overwhelming hope and fear that had overcome him the moment he saw Harry’s eyes: the love. The sound of breaking glass. The sight of blood droplets on the ground. The sound of a particular scream. The feeling of struggling to talk, knowing Hermione was dying. That awful, terrible moment when his mother fell and he knew Remus’ life would rest in his hands. 

That moment of panic when he thought Harry was--

Under the table, Cedric clenched his fist so tightly the nails dug into his palm. The curse had begun to itch and ache horribly, but he knew from experience trying to touch it would only make it worse. 

“We have to change our tactics going forward,” Sirius continued, and Cedric forced himself once again to return to the present. “Now that he is out in the open, he doesn’t have a reason to hide. He’ll be more aggressive, he’ll change tactics. We have to adapt. We can’t just sit around and wait for them to chase us out of our hiding holes like last time.” 

“We don’t have the numbers, Sirius,” Professor Dumbledore wearily waved his hand at the gathered people. “We gather information and we respond to attacks. Other than that, and setting up safehouses to retreat to, we don’t have the resources to fight them head on. Until we have managed to recruit more, it is pointless to discuss tactics we cannot hope to execute.” 

“What do we know of our enemy’s numbers, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asked, speaking for perhaps the third time that evening. 

“The proportion of us to them,” Professor Dumbledore said heavily, “appears to be close to what it was near the beginning of last time. That is, for the moment, with the allies we have, the numbers are in our favor. We do not have the majority needed to go on offence,” he added, with a glance towards Sirius, “but we have the strength to maintain our defense. However, we all remember how quickly that is likely to change. This is partly why--” 

Dumbledore was abruptly cut off as the door to the kitchen slammed open. Mad-Eye Alastor Moody walked in, immediate proof that it was indeed raining outside, leaning heavily on his staff. His long coast was dripping with water, and his drenched hair was clinging to the sides of his face. Cedric was reminded of the first moment he’d seen Professor Moody at the welcoming feast two years ago, only, he remembered after a second thought, that hadn’t been Alastor Moody at all. Moody nodded gruffly to Dumbledore, his electric blue eye rested on Cedric for a period of time that somehow conveyed a touch of respect, and then he took a seat. 

“Alastor, thank you for joining us.” Dumbledore said, before continuing on. “I have asked Tanwen here today both as a member of the Order and with hope that they might be able to provide light on how likely official cooperation with other magical nations appears to be.” 

“Not extremely at the moment, I’m afraid,” Tanwen said. “The overruling sentiment is that Britain dealt with their problem last time, they can deal with it again.” 

Tanwen had a longer report of the particulars for each nation; only a handful seemed likely to provide any support. France and Germany were potentially willing to send money, but not any actual wizardpower. The US was considering attempting to totally block international portkeys to try to keep potential Death Eaters out, but apparently Tanwen had contacts in the opposition of the major political party who said they would be willing to offer support. But, as Moody was quick to point out, that was easy to say when they weren’t in a position to offer much concrete help. 

The issue of recruitment was discussed for some length, Snape again protesting letting the newest Hogwarts graduates join. Cedric, Fred, and George all spoke up on behalf of their classmates, and Cedric resolved privately to see about James, Gavin, and Kayla visiting so he could talk about the Order to James and Gavin. 

Mr. Weasley and Cedric’s father brought out a long list of names: Ministry employees and their potential loyalties. Tonks and Shacklebolt had a similar list of DMLE officers. There was a concerning number in positions of power on both lists coded as grey; wizards and witches who wouldn’t necessarily support Voldemort from the get-go, but if he took over the Ministry wouldn’t offer much assistance. The veterans of the Order grimaced, explaining that a Ministry takeover had almost happened last time. 

“There is one other issue we must discuss before this meeting is dismissed,” Dumbledore said finally. “It is an issue of security concerning Mr. Potter.” 

“He’s not going back there,” Cedric said immediately, hoping something in the glare he shot in the direction of the Headmaster conveyed his anger.  _ It’s all your fault,  _ he wanted to shout,  _ he should have never gone back there last summer. He should have never been there in the first place.  _ “I will stop you if you try to send him there.” 

“Relax, Cedric,” Dumbledore said, though those words did little to their desired effect. 

“ _ I  _ will stop you if you try to send him there, Albus,” Professor McGonagall said, her tone icy. And Cedric was all at once very glad she was on their side. 

“We must do what is best for his safety, and Harry’s blood relatives have proved detrimental to that goal.” Dumbledore paused, nodding in Cedric’s direction, and Cedric relaxed slightly as he continued. “The issue remains, however. With Sirius’ legal guardianship of Harry through the Ministry, and his magical guardianship activated through the godparent bond, the Black Family Magic will protect him to some extent, to a greater extent than it did last summer, but the blood wards on Harry will fall any day. I worry without them it will not be enough. The only other possibility I can see is moving Harry to Hogwarts, but this option has its drawbacks. I would appreciate suggestions.” 

“Perhaps Potter could be moved to a more secure location, away from Grimmauld place,” Shaklebolt said after a moment. “A place under Fidelius, with only the most necessary knowing the location. Possibly an Unplottable location, if we can find one.” 

Remus shook his head with a grimace, “No. Harry needs to have certain people around him, or he will not be able to survive mentally.” Snape sneered at this, and the look that Remus shot him made Cedric remember the man was a Werewolf one night of the month. “He’s living in the first truly supportive environment since...well, since Lily and James died. He’s not weak for needing us, he’s human. But the fact remains, there would be too many people keyed into the wards to make a completely new place. We need a place like Grimmauld to anchor the magic that keeps him safe too, but places like Grimmauld are hard to find.” 

“And unfortunately,” Cedric’s father added, “the other side has more places like this, with old family magic, at their disposal. I would offer the Diggory household, except that it proved not safe enough to protect my family in the past. I will not make the same mistake twice.” 

“Could the Burrow wards be fortified?” George asked after a period of silence. 

“I think the Burrow is going to be unlived in for a while,” Mrs. Weasley said, her voice somber. “Sirius, I must confess that I would like the Weasleys to return to your household not only to help you. I am worried for my family’s safety. The Burrow can be maintained as a safehouse, but we have to renew the strengthened wards almost daily now. It’s not feasible long-term.” 

“The Weasley’s will always be welcome in this house, Molly,” Sirius said solemnly. 

Mr. Weasley grimaced, “The fact remains that with Harry here, Headquarters is an even bigger target. Could the protection of the Black Family Magic be increased somehow? Is there any way to capture some of the energy from the blood wards that were protecting him before?”

“For either of those options to be possible, Harry would either have to have the family blood or a soulmate bond to a member of the Black Family. Both are not feasible.” Shacklebolt replied. 

“...what if the first isn’t?” Remus asked after another moment of silence. “Sirius is the head of the Black family now, legally as well as magically. He could blood adopt Harry.” 

Several people downright flinched at the suggestion. Remembering the other sorts of magics that could be created with blood, Cedric felt his stomach go sour. 

Sirius turned abruptly to stare at his soulmate, “Remus--” 

“If you say one thing about the name or the blood  _ tarnishing  _ Harry,” Remus said curtly. “I will hex you, love.” 

“We’ll have to ask Harry,” Sirius said finally, clearly not looking pleased with the idea. 

“We will discuss this matter further, Sirius,” Dumbledore said solemnly. “And with that, this meeting is concluded.” 

* * *

Mrs. Weasley called them down from upstairs at half past eight. By that time several members of the Order had left, though Harry was unfortunate to arrive in the entrance hallway just as Professor Snape was leaving. The man turned without so much as  _ hmph _ , but his contempt was clearly apparent. Harry was not thrilled with the prospect of seeing the man anymore than he had to that summer. 

A bright flash of rage seemed to rise up in him as he remembered what had happened the night of the Ministry battle. He couldn’t recall exactly what had been said, only that in a moment of desperation, for fear of Cedric’s life, Harry had called out to the man as their only hope. And he had responded with cool indifference. 

“Harry, you alright?” Harry turned abruptly to see that it was Fred who had spoken, and realized that he had been staring at the door Snape had walked through for a long moment. 

“Yeah just...Snape.” Harry said by way of response. As he spoke, he noticed Dumbledore and Sirius in the corner of his vision, finishing a conversation that seemed to have left his godfather  _ (Adoptive father? Parent?)  _ displeased, but not outright angry. 

“Ah, that greasy git,” Fred said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Ah, but you should have heard it during the meeting! Lupin just about took his head off.” 

Somehow, this reminded Harry of the memory he had witnessed in the Pensieve, and that only made his stomach turn slightly queasy. Forcing a smile and a chuckle, he made conversation with Fred about the shop until they reached the kitchen. A large portion of the Order had left, leaving for dinner only the permanent inhabitants of Grimmauld Place, the Weasleys, Tonks, Tanwen, and, to Harry’s surprise, Mad-Eye Moody. Mad-Eye, Tanwen, and Tonks seemed to all be engaged in a discussion, to which Mad-Eye was contributing mostly grunts and the occasional shrug. Cedric sat to their left. 

Cedric turned to look as he walked in, smiling. But the smile was weak. Without thinking about it, Harry sat down in the chair next to Cedric, intertwining their fingers. Cedric’s hand was trembling slightly. 

“Cedric?” 

_ Are you okay?  _

The hand around his gave a soft squeeze in reassurance, then let go. “I’m okay Harry,” he insisted, “Just tired, and hungry.” 

“You do look quite peckish, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, resting a hand on Cedric’s shoulder for a moment. “Let’s change that, shall we?” A moment later various dishes levitated onto the table, and the people still standing eagerly found their seats. 

If anyone else noticed the misty look Cedric got in his eyes when Mrs. Weasley spoke to him, they didn’t say anything. But Harry noticed it, and empathized with Cedric to such a degree he was certain his heart would break. Maybe that was just a shared experience, longing for a lost mother. Maybe it was something to do with the soulbound. Maybe it was just the nature of love to feel your loved ones pain. Not knowing whether to acknowledge it in some way, or simply give Cedric space, Harry struggled with indecision. The moment quickly passed, and he was left feeling he had left something unsaid or undone. 

Conversation was quickly flowing, and by unspoken agreement everyone at the table avoided topics pertaining to the war. It was difficult to do this; to push those dark clouds hanging over all of them to the back, even for a little bit. But it was also necessary, Harry realized, as necessary to living as the food they were consuming. 

Because for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could really breathe. It didn’t feel so lonely. The battle was not to just survive, but to find the space in which they could keep living. That was, in and of itself, a victory. Tanwen and Tonks, Remus and Sirius, Mr and Mrs. Weasley, Harry and Cedric--all of them were testament to the fact that love in the face of war was possible. 

But it went far beyond the soulmates in the room. That love, perhaps an even deeper kind of love, was flowing from person to person freely. Ron and Hermione, Harry reflected, he loved no less than Cedric. And that in itself was victory. 

_ You won’t win,  _ Harry thought, slightly vindictively. He wasn’t sure who the thought was directed to--not just Voldemort, though. All of them.  _ The truth you hold to crumble in this light. Even if you defeat us, you won’t win. We will alway have something in this moment you will lack forever.  _

And, just like that, Harry felt the darker clouds he had shoved to the back of his mind rumbling. But the sound of laughter, of three or four conversations overlapping and mingling together, was, if not louder, at least loud enough to hear over the din. Cedric was quiet as he consumed his food, though Harry worried the food was a pretense. 

“Say, Cedric, Harry,” Tanwen said from Cedric’s left, drawing them out of the conversation they had been engaged with Fred and George in. “Tonks, Mad-Eye and I have a bit of a proposal. You’ve both got a natural talent for dueling from what we can gather, but it could do with a bit of refinement. Practice beats talent twelve times out of thirteen. How would you feel about some lessons from us over the summer?” 

Molly Weasley frowned, and if a frown could be audible, this one was. “I’m not sure that gives them the best ideas…” 

“Molly,” Mr. Weasley said gently, putting a hand over his wife’s. “Cedric’s in the Order now, he’s an adult. And Harry deserves to really learn to protect himself.” 

_ And the people I care about.  _

“I think it’d be brilliant,” Harry said in the slightly awkward silence that followed. “The only good Defense teacher I’ve had was Remus in third year. I mean, Fourth year would have been pretty brilliant if it weren’t for the whole…” 

_ Betrayal. Return of Voldemort. Torture.  _

Beside him, Cedric tensed slightly, then took a deep breath and set the fork down. Both his hands were shaking. 

“Madness and stupidity,” Mad-Eye grumbled, “Me, teaching! Albus really has lost it.” 

And, before Harry could quite react to it, Cedric was standing up from the table and abruptly running from the room. Immediately, Harry made to follow the sound of his soulmate’s retreating footsteps, but a rough grip on his arm stopped him. 

Mad-Eye looked at Harry intently with one eye, while the magic one rolled back in his head. “I’ll make sure he’s alright, Potter. Finish your food, you’re still too skinny.” 

Mad-Eye’s tone left no room for arguing, but Harry was left feeling certain he had failed Cedric somehow. He should have realized sooner the noise was getting to Cedric, realized sooner that Cedric was overwhelmed, realized sooner that...Cedric was in pain. 

“You should eat,” Tanwen said after a moment, turning to Harry. “Sometimes I think the Americans really do have a better attitude about food, they make it about happiness. Have another potato?” 

“Sure,” Harry muttered, letting them put the vegetable on his plate. But he could not stomach more than a few mouthfuls of it the rest of the meal, nor could he find himself easily content in the conversations Fred, George, Tonks, and Tanwen tried to pull him back into. 

The dark thunder clouds were too loud to ignore again. 

* * *

Every sense was dialed up the extreme, so that even the smallest sounds were cacophonous. On some logical level, Cedric knew that he was safe, but he could not shake the feeling that the walls were closing in on him from all sides. His instincts screamed only one emotion: fear. 

Part of it really was just exhaustion, sitting through the three hours of the meeting was emotionally demanding. But it wasn’t just that, no, first it was the sound of dinner. Of three or four conversations all overlapping and mixing together, making it impossible to follow every word being said. It wasn’t just the noise, it was the particular texture of the noise that had made it feel like a cheese grater under his skin, wearing his resolve down bit by bit. 

As that resolve had worn down, the separation in his mind that held back the worst of the memories was weakened. Bits slipped through, and he couldn’t stop them. Then Harry had mentioned something about fourth year, and Cedric felt everything back to the graveyard dug up to the surface. At the same moment, the burning in his wrist flared up, pulling along with it a host of fresher memories.

It was too much to handle. 

But as he stood up from the table, knowing that if he tried to stay he would just fall apart, the fear turned bitter in his stomach. It turned into shame. After fleeing the room like that, he didn’t know how he could ever sit in an Order meeting and expect respect. 

_ “You can do nothing to save him, Ceddy,”  _ Bellatrix’s voice whispered in a half-forgotten memory. 

_ “Mere Children,”  _ Snape sneered. 

_ What did I think I could do? I can’t turn the tide of the war on my own. I can’t protect Harry.  _

The walls of Grimmauld Place were closing in around him even as he closed the door of the library behind him. Moments later, he found himself collapsing against the wall for support, his legs trembling. He was breathing, but only in shudders and gasps, the air lurching in and out of him. It felt empty; he could breathe, but it never felt like he was getting enough air. 

A moment later the door opened and Cedric jumped like a startled animal, going for his wand on pure instinct. Mad-Eye Moody regarded him for a moment, with little care for the wand pointed at his face. Both eyes were trained on Cedric, which was somehow more disconcerting than having the blue one pointed a different direction. 

Again, that feeling of shame. Cedric looked away, unable to bear it. It was not a separate emotion from the fear either, the shame and the fear blended together. He was afraid he wasn’t strong enough to fight this fight, and he was terrified they would think so too. 

“Breathe, lad,” Mad-Eye put a hand on his shoulder, and the grip of his hand was tight, but not painful. It was something to focus on, something to pull him away from the panic. “Where are you?” 

Cedric turned back to him, staring uncomprehendingly for a moment. “What?” 

“Where are you?” 

“Uh…” he said, trying to will the words to come. “Grimmauld Place.” 

“Right. Half the Order’s downstairs. You’re safe.  _ Harry  _ is safe. Breathe. And sit down, before you fall over. I’m too old to keep you from cracking your skull open.” Mad-Eye let go of him and shuffled over to one of the arm chairs. Cedric followed, sitting down heavily and running his fingers anxiously through his hair. For a long moment, both of them were quiet. 

“Uh, Professor Moody?” Cedric said, once he felt sure he could get the words out of his mouth. 

“I don’t know about  _ ‘Professor’. _ Never got ‘round to much teaching, did I?” 

Cedric blinked, slightly startled as the bits came together. He felt like he knew this man before him, but he really didn’t. The man he knew was a Death Eater who had simply pretended to be Moody. All he really knew about Moody was that he had served in the First War and was responsible for putting many of the Death Eaters in Azkaban, at some point had known his mother from the way she greeted him last summer, and he was fighting on Cedric’s side in this war. He knew none of the specifics of the man’s life. 

“Uh, I suppose not,” Cedric said. “But, what are you doing here?” 

“Hmm,” Mad-Eye sighed heavily. “You’ll have to forgive me, lad. I’m not the best at talking sometimes. I suppose I just remember what it was like to be young and alone, and it didn’t make much sense for both of us to have to go through that. War’s a terrible thing Cedric, and it will forever be the worst crime of my generation that we let our war become yours. Loss is a terrible thing too, but in a war there’s only so much time to grieve. And you’ve lost more than your mother. There are some scars time won’t erase. You’re just going to have to learn to live with them. But no one can tell you how to do that.” 

Cedric took a deep breath, and, feeling strangely comfortable with talking to the older wizard, started to speak. “I would die for Harry. And I thought I could endure anything for him.” Unconsciously, he reached for the pendant at his neck, running his hand gently across the gem that thrummed quietly with magic. “I told him to stay away. But I knew he wouldn’t. And when he showed up that night at the ministry...all I could think was ‘thank Merlin, I’m saved.’ It was stupidly selfish of me…” Distantly, Cedric realized he was crying. 

“There are things worse than death,” Moody sighed, leaning on his staff more heavily. “I think people get the wrong idea about soulmarks. It isn’t some predestined fate set upon us by invisible forces; to some degree, it’s about a choice we make. But as much as it's about sacrifice, it’s about trust. You’re not weak for that, if anything you are strong. Finding people you can trust to that level...that’s a powerful thing, lad.” 

Wiping the tears from his face, Cedric leaned back in the seat, amazed by how much lighter he was feeling. “I just...don't know if I’m strong enough to fight this war. Maybe I’m just a kid, pretending to be something I’m not. I’m terrified I’m going to lose Harry. I just...I don’t have the experience my mother had.” 

“You’re not your mother,” Mad-Eye said, not unkindly. “And you should not endeavor to be her. As much as you are similar, you are different. If anything, you have the potential to become stronger. You and Harry have endured more in the past two years than most us could even imagine at your age. But it’s not going to get any easier from here out, Cedric. So you have to be honest with yourself. Which voice do you listen to: the doubt, or your own? That’s the only way you’ll live with the fear. And you have to overcome the fear, because you’re right, you’ve got a fight ahead of you. Keeping Potter alive will require--” 

“Constant vigilance?” Cedric said, surprised at the genuine chuckle that escaped him. 

Moody nodded gruffly. After a pause, in which he seemed to contemplate something, he continued. “You and I are alike, Cedric. Loyal, dedicated. But you’re the better Hufflepuff; I lost sight of kindness a long time ago. Just make sure you’re still kind to yourself, too. If you can hold on to that, we just might have a shot at surviving this.” 

Cedric and the older wizard talked for a while longer. The conversation was heavier than at dinner, and even at the meeting. Moody was blunt about the state of the world, with a sort of honesty that was refreshing. For the first time, with someone who wasn’t Harry, Cedric felt understood. He felt respected. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's Chapter 5! Sorry we're having to go to every other week for updates, but for the sake of my mental health its the best option. Also, future updates will probably be on Sundays.   
> A huge thank you to Tree Spiral!


	6. Hiatus Notice

I hoped I would never be titling a chapter this, but recent personal events have forced me to revaluate. To be clear, I have not given up on this story. Trying to get out weekly chapters, on top of school, college applications, and work, is just straining what little energy I have. I would never want to sacrifice quality for quantity. This story has been an escape for me in the most chaotic time of my life, and I hope it has been the same for you. But it makes no sense to sacrifice my mental health to a project I began to help me with my mental health. 

When this story returns, I hope to return to the world of Hogwarts with all of you again. Until then, I am happy to know my story has been a part, however small, of your lives. 

ABlackRaven


	7. (6) The Magic of Family and Home

**Chapter 6: The Magic of Family and Home**

Harry sat awake, waiting for Cedric. He wasn’t sure how either of them would manage when he had to go back to Hogwarts--Cedric’s warmth had become so familiar that the cold whenever he was absent felt...deeper. It left an ache in his chest. So he sat awake on the side of the bed, staring at the lamp, feeling the seconds trickle by. 

The door opened softly, and Harry turned. And there was Cedric. The soft vibration from the amulet resting on Harry’s skin increased, almost imperceptibly. But Cedric looked...shattered. As he closed the door behind him, and crossed the room to sit by Harry, there was a distinct heaviness to his footsteps. The warmth of his soulmate’s body brushed up against him, and Harry would have sworn he could feel Cedric’s pain. 

“You’re not alright,” Harry said gently, resting his head on Cedric’s shoulder. 

“No,” Cedric’s voice was weary. “I’m not.” 

Harry frowned, hating how helpless he felt to prevent this. “What happened?” 

“Not sure. It was...Everything. Nothing. Just…” Cedric sighed, “I’m so tired of this, Harry. The war...the people we’re going to lose...the grief’s not the worst part of it, and the grief is horrible. But it’s the fear I can’t stand. Living every day, watching my dad walk out the doors to go to work and knowing he might not come back...knowing you’re going back to Hogwarts and you’re not even safe there...knowing we’re going to lose people...it’s too much.” Cedric’s voice wavered. “And I just miss her. I thought I could fill her shoes, and then maybe it would be like she wasn’t really gone, y’know? But I can’t. I’m not her, and I can’t be her. She’s gone.” 

A small sob tore it’s way out of Cedric’s chest. And this wasn’t like other times Cedric had broken in front of Harry--wasn’t at all like that horrible night in Dumbledore’s office after the Ministry. Cedric wasn’t shattering; he was letting go of a tight bundle of pain he had kept close to his chest, afraid to let it out. 

“Oh Cedric,” Harry said softly, pulling his soulmate close. They ended up laying beside each other on top of the covers, Harry curled around Cedric protectively. The light dimmed. Cedric was crying. And there, in that intimate privacy of the quiet darkness in Grimmauld, Harry was crying too. 

And it wasn’t sex, no, but it was passion. It was intimacy. It was trust and it was love. 

“She threatened to kill you,” Cedric said finally, after a long while. His voice was croaky and small in darkness. “I think she knew that was the way to get to me. I can’t get it out of my head, every time my wrist aches or itches…” Cedric turned to face Harry looking at him in the dim light. “Every time I’m reminded of that night I’m reminded of the fact that you’re mortal and it’s terrifying.” 

Harry leaned in slightly, resting his forehead against Cedric’s and brushing hair that had grown long behind his ear. “It’s strange,” he said softly, “but I think we have to hold on to that fear, Cedric. It’s horrible, but...it’s all we’ve got. It’s what we’re fighting for. If we were fighting without the fear...then I don’t know what would separate us from them. We are both in mortal danger, and the fact that we are afraid of that is a sign to me that we have something worth fighting for.” 

“I hate it.” 

“Me too.” 

There were no nightmares when they finally drifted off to sleep. For the moment, at least, their minds had decided to be at peace. Harry woke alone and panicked for a moment, before he realized the mattress beside him was still warm. He found Cedric in the kitchen…

Smiling. Laughing even, as he helped Remus prepare breakfast. The smell of it was light, not overbearing, hanging in the air with a delicate sweetness. From somewhere in the room, old music was drifting through the air. It wasn’t anything Harry recognizes from the Dursleys, and it seemed too odd to be Muggle music anyways. But for all it’s peculiarity, it was somehow familiar. Remus was telling an old story, of the Marauders. No one commented on the fact that Remus only spoke of three; Wormtail’s absence from this moment was deliberately silent. 

Harry smiled, his chest aching with happiness like the silver balloons at the Yule ball--filled to the brim with a most precious kind of magic. So often, he realized, they had to define love in this world by it’s battlefield power. To exist in war, love had to make them stronger warriors. But it was so much more than that--so much more than apricity they had to cling to through grey winter days. It was also the all encompassing warmth of long summer days. 

Letting the warmth of domesticity wash over him, Harry resolved to wait until after breakfast to ask about the meeting. Unfortunately, he didn’t get a chance to. Right after breakfast, Sirius pulled Harry aside to talk. Sensing that this was about the matter that Dumbledore had been talking to Sirius the night prior, Harry didn’t argue. 

“Harry,” Sirius said firmly, sitting down beside him on the sofa. “You must get no self-sacrificial notions in your head after you hear what I have to say; Merlin knows that’s already a problem. We have security concerns with keeping you here at Grimmauld. You are the primary target for Voldemort, second to only maybe the Minister of Magic.” 

Harry froze, feeling the anxiety pressing in all around him, like shards of fire plunging into his brain and lungs. _They’re in danger. They’re in danger. Cedric’s going to get hurt again. Sirius, Remus, all of them...Selfish to stay…_

“Harry, look at me.” There was a gentle hand on Harry’s back, and Sirius’ voice was soft. “Protecting you is important. And there are options, we are not helpless in this fight.” 

“Maybe…” Harry gritted his teeth and struggled to keep his breathing even, feeling as though his lungs were straining against iron bands. “Maybe I should just go back to the Dursleys, for however long it would take to strengthen the wards. I could handle it. It’s better than me staying here and putting the entire Order at risk.” 

“No,” Sirius said firmly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Harry, look at me. We--all of us--have failed you in the past. I shall not let it happen again. You will never return there. There is...another option, but I hesitate to suggest it.” 

Harry felt somewhat guilty at the way the tightness in his chest immediately loosened. “Sirius, I’ll do anything I can. I hate being a target; I’m a danger to you all.” 

“Oh, Harry,” Sirius said softly. “You’re so much more than that. And you’re not important because of the prophecy; you’re important because we love you. The only reason I would consider this suggestion is to protect you.” 

“What is it?” 

“Well…” He grimaced. “This is difficult to explain. How much do you understand about wards, like the ones that protected you...at least in theory... at the Dursleys?” 

Harry frowned. “They were stronger than normal wards? I think?” 

“Yes, theoretically. But there’s a bit more than that, stuff I learned because of the Black library that you won’t learn until Seventh year, and then only if you take advanced runes. In general, there are three categories of wards. There are _Inpositicius_ or Applied Wards, which are the wards we use in general use. These have specific purposes, and are usually the easiest for curse breakers to work through. The strength of these relies the heaviest on the skill and strength of the caster. Have I lost you yet?” 

“Um, no. I don’t think so.” 

“Good. The next kind of ward you are familiar with--more familiar with than your classmates--are Blood Wards. These require some sort of sacrifice of the caster. The strength of these relies on the strength of the caster...and the magnitude of the sacrifice. They work on general intent to protect an area, or in your case, person. Typically, these are nearly impossible for curse breakers to dismantle. The only reason Voldemort was able to even remotely neutralize the Blood Wards around you is because he was able to obtain your blood. Still makes sense?’ 

“Yeah,” Harry sighed tiredly, “I just wish someone would have bothered explaining this sooner. All that time going on about wards...it was hard to resent it when I didn’t really understand it.” 

Sirius’ face tightened, but he continued. “And the third kind of ward is Family Wards, like the Black wards that protect this house. Family wards offer the best protection to anyone with the family blood, and anyone the head of the family keys into the wards. A greater protection is given to blood relatives, then to adopted relatives, and then to guests. Whether or not someone is a soulmate also affects things. Everyone of the Order, for example, is a guest of Grimmauld house. But Cedric has a stronger protection because he’s connected to you.” 

“Okay...I think I follow?” Harry frowned. “So if we have Family Wards, why is there still a security concern?” 

Sirius sighed, “Family Wards are strong, but they unfortunately have some key weaknesses. The Pureblood’s tendency to intermarry really has weakened all their family wards over time, most Pureblood families can practically ignore the wards of other houses if they wanted to. This is why the Black wards aren’t enough to protect you, and the Order to be frank. The Black Family has too many branches and relations...not to mention the problem of my cousin.” 

Rage was the only emotion Harry felt when thinking of Bellatrix Lestrange; it was an ember that smouldered at all times, and it only took the mere mention of her to flare up. “I can see the problem,” Harry said bitterly. “What are you doing to counteract that?” 

“Mostly layers of Applied Wards against known Death Eaters and Voldemort. Bellatrix is the most difficult to stop, and she’s tried to break through several times. As Head of the family I can exclude her from the wards to an extent, but it remains a risk.” 

“So what can we--what can I do?” 

“The strongest of wards use a combination of all three types of wards. Hogwarts is the best example of this. There are layers of Applied Wards on the castle and grounds, strengthened and added to each year. There are also Blood Wards protecting the castle; the founders sacrificed portions of their magic to the place. Beyond that, you probably didn’t know this, the staff of Hogwarts all sacrifice a bit of energy to the castle. This is where the concept of wards gets a bit philosophical, but many theorize that the strongest Blood Wards are sacrifices driven by love. Even Filch, damn the man, sacrifices some of his energy to the safety of Hogwarts. Hogwarts is a family, which is why Family Wards work on it too. Every student and every staff member is adopted by the magic of the castle.” 

Harry blinked, “You’ve lost me a bit, Sirius.” 

“Bear with me. I’ve adopted you in a legal sense, and in a magic sense. But blood still separates us. There is a ritual, however, that would adopt you in blood. You would literally have my blood in your veins. And, if I had everything I wanted Harry, we would never perform this ritual. I’ve spent most of my time alive cursing my blood; it’s not a curse I would wish on anyone else.” 

“ _Blood of the enemy, unwillingly given…”_ Harry swallowed back the bile that rose with the memory of fourth year and Wormtails’s voice. 

“Um…” Harry trailed off, still caught up in the memories, unable to shake the memory of the graveyard off. “That sounds a lot like...dark magic Sirius.” 

Sirius nodded solemnly. “It is, Harry. But we shouldn’t let that label be defiled by what Voldemort and other evil wizards have done. Magic...it’s not black and white, Harry. Light spells can be used to inflict horrible pain, and dark spells can do incredible good. Cedric saved Remus’ life with a spell that some of the medical community has debated as a dark spell. Most Blood Wards are technically dark spells; some would argue the wards your mother cast on you are dark magic. If you had my blood we could strengthen every ward, protecting you, and by extension Grimmauld. The magic your mother cast upon you just needs an anchor; if we do this, I can be that anchor.” 

Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded. “Okay. How soon can we do it?” 

Sirius blinked. “Harry...I’m still not sure I even want to do it. There’s a reason I didn’t want you to have my name. And you would have to have the Black name after this, probably Black-Potter.” 

Harry was silent for a long moment, and then looked at his godfather very seriously. “There’s been at least one good Black. Sirius, even after knowing everything I do about you, I’m proud to be your...I’m proud to be your son. How soon can we do it?” 

“We have to do it tomorrow: the seventh day of the seventh month,” Sirius said, his voice slightly teary. “Harry, I’m afraid you don’t have much to compare this to. You don’t have to do this to earn my respect or love, that is something freely given.” 

“You’re right,” Harry said softly, looking away. “I don’t have anything to compare it to. Except...I do. I’ve been comparing how the Dursleys treated me to how other parents treated their kids for as long as I can remember. Even when I got to Hogwarts...Ron, Hermione, my classmates...there’s a part of me that was always jealous of them. And I think all of that is still affecting me more than I know. But I have to be stronger now, and now that I’m out of the Dursleys I have that strength. I know I’m still not okay, Sirius, but I know what I have to do. Even if I didn’t want this--and, Sirius, I do want this--there isn’t a choice here. Protecting the people I care about is most important.” 

Sirius wordlessly pulled Harry into a hug, and Harry melted into it. 

* * *

Harry found Cedric in the library, staring listlessly at the pages of a herbology notebook. His face wasn’t split with happiness or anything--he wasn’t even really smiling. But there was a peace that had fallen over his being that had been sorely missing in recent weeks. His face was not contorted in pain, or grief, or anger, or fear. It was a soft sort of victory, to find those moments they could, if not be good, at least be okay. 

The room was lit dimly, but strangely the shadows were not as imposing as they had once been. Last summer, Grimmauld was barely a house--literal monsters hanging on in the shadows. It was barely lived in. But this summer, Grimmauld was quickly becoming a home. 

That wasn’t so much about becoming familiar with the building itself--though Harry had found his ears were attuning to the gentle symphony of creaks that filled Grimmauld. Nor was it the fact that Grimmauld was cleaner--the old Black family portraits were not the only bits of dark magic that lingered. It was the people in Grimmauld that made it home. 

Harry felt his heart swelling with love in that soft moment of peace, looking on at his boyfriend before Cedric noticed he was there. He leaned against the door frame and spent a moment just soaking it in--memorizing every line of Cedric’s face. Love so poignant it almost physically hurt grew in his chest. 

_You’re putting him in danger...you’re putting all of them in danger..._

And the stab of guilt that accompanied that thought was shoved aside, banished to a darker corner of his mind. Perhaps it would fester there, or perhaps it would die out, but Harry refused to let that anxiety ruin this moment. 

“Harry?” Harry blinked, realizing that Cedric had said his name multiple times now. The look of neutral peace had fallen from his face--it was now creased with a frown. Cedric was on his feet a second later, the journal laid pages down on the coffee table to mark its place. “What’s wrong mo shíorghrá?” he said softly, intertwining one of Harry’s hands with his own. 

Harry looked up, taking a shaky breath and trying to wipe the sudden tears from his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “I just…” He sighed, trailing off. Regaining his composure, he looked up into Cedric’s eyes. The world fell away, leaving only them. “I love you, Cedric. I love you so much it terrifies me. It terrified me how much danger I put you in--no, hear me out,” he said softly, cutting Cedric off before he had a chance to protest. “We’re going into a war. And we have to be prepared for the realities of that. We cannot let...us--whatever we are--jeopardize the chance we have to defeat Voldemort. And I just don’t know how we can do that.” 

“Shh,” Cedric said, his voice wavering as he wiped away tears streaking down Harry’s face. “Don’t try to figure it out all right now, mo shíorghrá. Leave the battles of tomorrow to tomorrow. We’re not so alone in all this--We have my dad, and Sirius, and Remus, and all our friends. And the whole Order. You’re not alone in all this, not anymore.” Gently, Cedric pulled him closer, and Harry found himself pressed against the warmth of his boyfriend’s sweater. “Just be here with me for now. We’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.” 

* * *

Dumbledore stood before the hearth of Grimmauld Place, forming a triangle with Sirius and Harry. Just behind Sirius stood Remus, and just behind Harry stood Cedric and his father, all three of them offering their steady support. The blood adoption between Harry and Sirius would solidify the magical connections between the five of them--magically, they would all be family. That wouldn’t change much though, just solidify what was already there. 

Still, Sirius looked nervous. “Are you sure about this, Harry?” he asked, for what was certainly the hundredth time. He seemed to want to reach out to Harry, but hesitated. “We can find another way.” 

“It’s okay, Sirius,” Harry said softly, nodding to Dumbledore. “This is for the best.” 

Sirius met his eyes for a moment, emotions flickering in his gaze, and then he too nodded towards Dumbledore. “Okay Albus, we’re ready.” 

“Good,” Dumbledore drew his wand with a fluid motion, holding it in the center of the triangle. He began to incant the spell, but there were many words that Harry did not recognize at all--it certainly wasn’t all Latin. Some of it reminded Harry of the words Cedric’s mother’s family used, so the spell had some Celtic roots. But other parts of it were even more foreign. Or perhaps not foreign to them at all, just old. Ancient, thrumming with the same power that the highland mountains contained, deep within them. 

A single strand of light left the wand, curling into a ball in the air. Circles of light formed on the ground around each person in the room--first Dumbledore, then Sirius and Remus, then Harry, Cedric, and Amos. Lines formed between them, shining with an energy that pulsed like the beat of a heart. More strands of light joined the coil and where one ended and the next began could not be determined, until the light of the magic in the room outshone the candles. Dumbledore fell silent, and the magic hovered. The air stirred. Harry felt the pull on his magic, and felt Sirius’s magic across from him--warm, like a fire on a winter night. 

Sirius stepped forward, a knife in hand. The ball of pulsating magic was between them now. Harry bit back a grimace, pushing away flashbacks to another knife, and took a step forward, opening his palm. Quickly, but gently--with care and love that was the very antithesis of that ritual in the graveyard--Sirius drew the knife against Harry’s palm and then his own. It stung, just a little bit, but it was nothing really. There are pains that hurt you, pains that change you, and pains that heal you. 

Harry reached out his shaking hand above the magic and Sirius clasped it in his own, bracing his trembling fingers in a callused, steady palm. Blood mixed and flowed, a drop left their hands and fell into the sphere of energy. In the pool of magic between them, Harry could feel the magic of the people in the room, but that wasn’t all...no, there was more. 

His mother’s magic--the wards that lay beneath his skin. And then briefly, gone so quickly he would later swear to himself he had imagined it--a flash of something horribly dark and terribly familiar appeared at the surface, only to vanish in the light a moment later. Harry’s heart seemed to quiver in his chest, beating with a tight urgency. His father’s magic--for the span of a heart beat, a stag formed in the ball of light, much in the same way might have taken shape in the fire of the clouds. The darkness, if it had been there at all, was burned away in an all encompassing warmth that filled the room. The magical lines on the floor glowed with a golden light. Harry found that he could not close his eyes, not even to blink away the stinging tears forming at the corners of his vision--they were locked with Sirius’s, with…

With his father’s eyes. Because in that moment, Sirius wasn’t entirely Sirius. James Potter was there too, almost a ghost and yet not quite. There was a softness to his smile, a twinkle in his eye, and firmness to the hand clasped around Harry’s that said thousands of things without a single word. The tears flowed gently too, in the way a person can only cry in the supporting embrace of a parent. It was a statement of unconditional pride and love. It was unspoken, fatherly support. 

And it was permission to move on. 

James Potter smiled, and then he was gone, and just Sirius remained. Harry’s father. Dumbledore released his hold on the spell, but it did not dissipate. The line of magic spread into a fine, whirling smoke. Bits of it came to rest on every person in the room except Dumbledore, but the majority of it flew to spread throughout the house. It settled over Grimmauld--soaked into everything from the furniture to the grain of the floorboards to the hearts of its inhabitants--strengthening old wards and laying down new. It cut through the gloom that had persisted throughout their home, in much way the dissipation of incense might cut through a foul smell. 

Harry turned as the last of it disappeared from sight, turned to see _his father_ standing before him. Sirius was crying openly, tears streaking down his face. Part of it was sadness-longing for what could have and should have been, regret of what was. But overwhelming, Harry knew it was a sense of the same feeling--the same magic--overtaking him, healing something within him…

Love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh...it's been a while. A variety of things happened in my life. Good news: I got into my dream university!!! Bad news: Everything else in my life decided, collectively, to destroy my soul for a few months. So that was fun. Not sure if it's really getting any better, but I think I finally have energy to work on this consistently. Besides, I deserve a bit of escapism right now. We all do.  
> I don't want to not be consistent, so the goal is to publish a chapter every 3 weeks. That gives me 1 week to write, 1 week to edit, and 1 week to spend my mental energy having a breakdown (not necessarily in that order, and the breakdowns aren't about writing this). I'm going to try to make chapters a bit longer because of this, somewhere in the 4,000 ballpark, but there will probably still be chapters in the 3,000 ballpark.  
> I have a feeling I'm loosing some readers because of the hiatus and the slower schedule, but that's okay. Whether you stick around for one more chapter or 50 more chapters (here's to hoping there's 50 more chapters), I'm glad you embarked on this journey with me at all.  
> This is getting to long.  
> The highest praise, as always, should be extended to Tree Spiral. I hope you all enjoyed this!


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